A Home for an Outcast
by Ordinary Joy
Summary: Ciara is a Nenanore Elf- a warrior race of elves with dark skin and light hair that was betrayed by her brother to a mysterious enemy and destroyed. She is shunned by what remains of her people and spends nearly 1000 years wandering alone until a chance encounter with the ranger Arathorn changes her life and sends her on an incredible adventure.
1. Prologue

**Hello, thanks for clicking on my story, I hope you will give it a chance. Although I have dabbled with fancfiction before in the secret vaults of my computer's file folder, I have never had the courage to actually publish a story. This particular story, however, has gone further than any other save one, and it has a special place in my heart, as Lord of the Rings is quite possibly my favorite movie series. This story takes place during the time of Aragorn's childhood and will eventually lead to a love story between Ciara and Legolas- though it may take a while to get there. Hopefully the story will improve as I move deeper into it, but I would love to hear some actual feed back, rather than just my own thoughts. I would appreciate it if you didn't just say it sucks and then move on, constructive feedback would be appreciated. This story will not always be true to the very deep lore and history of Middle Earth, as this is my own creation set in the world of Tolkien and I have taken several creative liberties. **

**PROLOGUE**

Ciara crept quietly through the dark, frost covered woods, edging closer to the merry light of a small fire. The trees were thick here, providing her with plenty of cover to observe the group unseen. Astoldoer, her faithful elven stallion, wickered quietly, anxious that his mistress was leaving him behind. He was a Tinuroch, a Star Horse, and had bonded with her after she had first been made a warrior. The Tinuroch had once been bred by her people, though she had not seen one other than Astoldoer in many, many years.

The Tinuroch were far more intelligent than their mortal horse counterparts, and their life span matched that of the elves. Astoldoer's coat was coal black, with sparks of silver that dusted his back. His mane and tail were a shimmering silver. He had been with her through all her lonely travels and was the one thing that had kept her from simply giving up and letting her mind fade away.

Astoldoer did not like his mistress leaving him behind, as they were rarely separated. He did not like being unable to protect her, should she need it, but she knew that he would be noticed where she would not be.

Despite common sense screaming at her to turn around and get as far away from other living beings as possible, she found that she could not turn back. How long had it been since she had last heard voices other than her own? It had been at least a year, maybe more, since she had wandered into a human village to trade for supplies in the fall. And many, many years since she had last dared to linger in a settlement long enough to stop at an inn and listen as folks told stories late into the night.

She had had many names throughout her years of wandering- The Shadow, the Hunter, Nightwatcher, the Silver Eyed Bandit. Few remained on Middle Earth that could recall her true name, and none of those that did welcomed her. She was never seen her without a dark hood and scarf hiding her features, and even her hands were covered by dark gloves.

Her dark, mysterious look, as well as the many weapons she wore, inspired fear in most of those she met in her travels, though not as much as her true appearance would have inspired. While her disguise and isolation kept her safe, she found herself growing more weary and lonely with each passing season. Often, she felt as though she were fading from existence, nothing more than a ghost floating through an empty world.

When her sensitive ears had picked up the sound of men speaking ahead of her, she was surprised. They were far from any known civilization, and she had not expected to encounter another being. Suddenly in that moment, she needed the sound of conversation like she needed water or air. I will stay out of site, just close enough to listen without them seeing me, she thought to herself.

Her footsteps made no sound as she drew closer, and the men were oblivious to her presence. Once she was just outside the light of the fire, she nimbly climbed a tree, settling herself on a comfortable branch that gave her a clear view of the fire and those around it. To her surprise, she realized that they were four humans, and upon closer inspection of their well-worn cloaks, she decided that they must be some of the mysterious Northern Rangers.

She had heard of the Rangers- the Dunedain descendants who roamed the wild lands of Middle Earth much as she did- they were even more notorious than she was. Their hooded cloaks, rugged appearance and secret ways sparked equal amounts of curiosity and fear in the human settlements to the north. Her interest piqued, she settled against the tree and closed her eyes, soaking up the reminder that she was not the only person left in this wide world.

* * *

Arathorn, son of Arador, the Chieftan of the Dunedain, sat comfortably against a large boulder, enjoying the warmth of the fire as it chased away the chills of a long day. He and his men had been patrolling the woods north of the shire for almost a week now, and he was looking forward to returning home. Fortunately, the patrol had been quiet, and he had little news to report back to his father.

Suddenly, Arathorn tensed, feeling the eyes of a stranger on him. A quick glance at his friends showed that none of the others seemed to notice that they were being watched and he let his gaze drift casually through the trees surrounding their camp. Seeing nothing, he frowned, and returned is attention to his companions, though he kept his senses open and watchful.

"I will never forget the glorious day that Arathorn fell face first into the mud, right in front of the Lady Gilraen!" Halbarad was saying, laughter in his voice. Arathorn narrowed his eyes at his best friend and brother in arms. Halbarad merely winked at him and continued with the story.

"He's smitten with the beautiful lady and had decided to show off before her. He challenged Caldar to a duel," Halbarad continued, earning chuckles from their other companions around the fire (Caldar was well known as one of the fiercest, most

* * *

skilled rangers, and had been their teacher), "Of course, Caldar knew right away what the great and mighty Arathorn was up to, and so proceeded to dump Arathorn on his face into the mud, not one minute into the fight."

"Just you watch, Halbarad, I am going to marry the Lady Gilraen someday," Arathorn said, eliciting more laughter and teasing comments from his three companions.

Arathorn rolled his eyes, enduring the good-natured teasing of his men. Once they had had their fun, Arathorn launched into an equally embarrassing tale of how Halbarad had once almost taken Caldar's eye out with an arrow. All the while, a part of him remained focused on the woods around him, searching out their silent watcher.

The next night, Arathorn again felt that they were being watched. Although he could not identify the watcher, he felt no ill will, and decided that whoever it was did not intend to attack them. On the third night, after the other rangers had all fallen asleep, Arathorn called softly out to the night.

"I can feel your eyes upon us watcher, I know you are out there somewhere. You are welcome to come and share our fire," he said quietly in elven- the language preferred by the Dunedain. To his knowledge, the only creature skilled and silent enough to sneak up on a ranger was an elf. If their watcher was one such creature, as he suspected, then they would easily be able to hear his quiet words, as well as understand them.

The only answer he received was the soft hooting of an owl.

* * *

He repeated his welcome the next night and was rewarded by a slight movement up in the trees. It was barely a movement at all, just a subtle repositioning of the watcher's position on the branch, but it was enough for Arathorn's eyes to make out the dark outline of a person high above them. He waited another moment, hoping that the stranger would come down from their perch, but nothing happened. Accepting that this was all that he would get for the night, Arathorn sighed and went back to keeping watch. When he woke up the next morning, the figure was gone.

This continued for several more nights, even as the rangers moved steadily closer to home, making camp in a new spot each night. Whoever it was that watched them never came closer, but each night, Arathorn was able to make out their slight form somewhere in the branches above. He never mentioned their presence to the men he traveled with, as something held him back from doing so. He could not believe the watcher meant them harm, and their presence became a comfort to him.

A week after Arathorn had first felt the gaze of their watcher, they were attacked. It had been another long day as they slowly made their way back to the Dunedain village. Although there was still quite a bit of snow on the ground, the long winter seemed to finally be loosening its grasp. The bits of new grass and the tiny buds on the trees had encouraged the men, and they had made good progress.

They had just gotten a fire going and were settling around it when shrill cries pierced the quiet night. Arathorn and his men jumped up, reaching for their weapons. Minutes later, goblins emerged from the rapidly darkening woods, and Arathron felt a mix of adrenalin and fear course through his body. He counted at least 20 goblins, their dark forms flooding into the circle of light made by the fire. Where they had come from, he had not the slightest idea. Goblins hadn't been seen in this part of the world in centuries.

Disregarding the thought, Arathorn raised his sword, prepared to take on the first blow from his attacker. The blow never came, however. The goblin suddenly stopped, eyes wide and sword raised, not three feet from where Arathorn stood. A moment later, the ghastly creature groaned and toppled forward, a sleek black arrow protruding from its back. At first, he thought that the goblin had been accidentally shot by one of its own, but on closer inspection, he realized that the arrow was extremely well crafted, and swirling elven script was carved into its shaft in silvery lines.

He heard the twang of a bow, and five more goblins fell in quick succession. The goblins stopped their advance at first, but the hesitation did not last long. With a cry, they surged forward. A black figure, lithe and graceful, dropped from the trees above, landing between the goblins and the rangers. Arathorn heard his men gasp in surprise, but he simply took the time to study the silent watcher.

With a battle cry, the goblins closed the remaining distance and attacked. Arathorn had a few moments to observe the watcher as they drew out two swords, one longer and one shorter, from where they had been sheathed in an X across her back. The beautiful weapons glittered sharply in the fire light and the woman attacked with a speed, grace, and ferocity that no human could ever hope to match. Then he was forced to focus on the fight, as a goblin suddenly came at him from the right.

While he was engaging the first goblin, another came up behind him. He knew he need to move, to block the new attack that was aimed at him, but his sword was still locked tightly with the that of the goblin before him. He braced himself for the blow that he knew was coming, but instead a blade flashed silver past his face, imbedding itself deep into the neck of the second goblin. He turned to see the watcher already turning to attack another goblin and gave them a quick nod of thanks.

The battle was over far sooner than Arathorn would have thought possible, given the sheer numbers of their opponents. In just a few short moments, not a single goblin was left standing, and none had escaped to bring word of the events to their enemies. Arathorn knew that their quick victory was mostly in thanks to their silent watcher, who had taken out at least twelve of the goblins on their own.

Arathorn cleaned his sword, then turned to the mysterious woman. She wore loose trousers and a black tunic underneath leather armor. A black hood and scarf covered her face, and she wore thick black gloves, so that Arathorn could not see even an inch of her skin. Several blades of various sizes were strapped about her person in addition to the crossed swords, and Arathorn was sure that she had more tucked away out of sight.

After watching her fight, he knew that she had to be an elf of some sort, no other creature could move with such grace and speed- though he had never met an elf that worked so hard to shield herself from the view of others.

"I thank you for your assistance today, you may have just saved our lives," he said, bowing slightly. Halbarad and the other rangers watched her warily, having had no idea that she was there before the fight began. Arathorn smiled to himself, perhaps this would be a good lesson for his men in watchfulness, even in times of apparent peace.

The woman said nothing but nodded to him in return before stooping to pull one of her arrows from the body of a goblin. She cleaned it and then returned it to the quiver strapped to her back. Arathorn turned to his men.

"Halbarad, you and I will stay here and clean up this mess," he said, before turning to his other two companions.

"I want you two to go ahead and warn my father that goblins have been spotted. Where there is one, there are many, and our people need to be prepared. Take only what you need most, Halbarad and I will bring the rest with us," he said. The two rangers nodded and got busy sorting through their packs while Halbarad and Arathron set about putting the camp back together and moving the bodies further way so that they did not have to smell their stench.

Once that task was finished and the other two rangers had left, he turned back to the elf. She had finished gathering her arrows and now stood hesitantly on the edge of the firelight, as if debating whether or not to come closer. She had also retrieved a powerful elven long bow, which now hung casually across her back. Overall, her appearance made for a rather formidable sight.

"Come, join us by our fire and share our food, so that we make thank you," he said. The figure stood still for a moment before nodding and slowly approaching the two remaining rangers.

"You have awfully good timing," Halbarad commented casually, "we'd have been in trouble if you hadn't shown up. What do we call you, my friend?"

There was an awkward pause, and Arathorn was about to say something to break the silence when the stranger spoke.

"I believe the people around these parts call me the Shadow," the elf said slowly. Her voice was low and rough, as if it had not been used in a long time.

"The Shadow, you say?" Halbarad said in amazement, "I've heard of you! Folks around here have told strange tales of the Shadow who stalks through the night. They can't seem to decide if you are some sort of dark guardian or a wraith." A low chuckle came from beneath the Shadow's hood.

"I can assure you that I am no wraith, and for that the people of this land should be very glad," she said simply. With that, an uneasy silence fell once more on the camp.

* * *

For the first time in long time, Ciara had to force herself not to fidget. It had been so long since she had last been in the company of others that she found she had no idea what to do with herself. Logically she knew that she shouldn't have followed the rangers, creeping forward into their camp each night was a terrible risk.

Each day, she had told herself that she would not go back, and if she happened to be going the same direction as the rangers, it was simply because they were both traveling the same way. Yet each night, she hadn't been able to stop herself from venturing close enough to observe the four rangers.

She studied their leader now from beneath her dark hood. His dark hair, long for a human, but far shorter than that of an elf, was dirty and his grey eyes were sharp, missing nothing. The grey cloaks that he and the others wore blended well with the winter landscape. He was clearly comfortable in his role as leader and moved with a quiet confidence that spoke of many years of training for battle and many nights spent in the woods.

He was handsome, she supposed, in a sort of rugged, unkempt way, but that was not what had drawn her to him. Perhaps it was the way that he had been able to sense her presence, when no others could, or perhaps it was the way that he did not challenge her or try to chase her off. Suddenly, as if feeling her eyes on him, the man cleared his throat and spoke.

"I am called Arathorn and this is Halbarad. I am the commander of the Dunedain Rangers, and my father is our Chieftain," he said.

Ciara nodded slightly, then, realizing that they were still waiting for her to say something, said, "It is an honor to meet you."

Despite feeling awkward and unsure, Ciara felt herself relaxing slightly and taking a closer look at the ranger Arathorn. Although no longer as strong as they had once been, the Dunedain were still a sturdy, formidable group of warriors. It would take a strong man to lead such people.

The one called Halbarad removed a piece of meat from the fire and handed it to her. As she reached forward to take it, she felt the sting of a shallow cut on her arm, where one of the goblin blades had managed to sneak past her defenses. Arathorn gasped.

"You are injured! Why did you not say so from the beginning?" he said, quickly reaching towards her as if to grab hold of her arm and examine the cut more closely. Ciara jerked back, dropping the meat that Halbarad handed to her, and quickly moved away from the two men. Arathorn stilled, then slowly held his arms out, palms up.

"We mean you no harm, please, let me take a look at it, I know some of healing," he said slowly. Ciara's heart beat began to race. If they got to close and saw the grey skin beneath her clothes, they would know immediately that she was not a Sindarin or Sylvan elf. She could tell that Arathorn was both intelligent and observant, it would take him no time at all to figure out what she was.

"It is nothing, merely a scratch from a blade that came too close. I am fine," she said gruffly, turning so that the injured arm was turned away from the fire and their view.

"Even the smallest wound can become infected if not properly cared for, and many goblin blades are coated with poisons. Please, just let me clean it and bandage it, and give you something to combat any poison," Arathorn said, his voice soothing. Ciara held completely still, battling with herself over what to do.

She wavered, was life worth living if she simply continued to do nothing but hide from the world? Was life worth living without companionship? _Maybe, if they take offense to you, they will be able to finally put an end to your pointless wanderings_, said a small voice deep in her heart. Pushing the thought aside, Ciara made a decision.

It was time to start a new chapter of her life, she could no longer abide the loneliness that had been her constant companion for so long. She slowly eased back to the fire, subtly checking to make sure that her weapons were within easy reach should the rangers react badly to her secret. As she sat back down next to the rangers, she slowly reached up, and for the first time in over six hundred years, pushed back the hood and pulled down the scarf that covered her face while in the presence of others.

* * *

Arathorn watched as the Shadow hesitantly came back to the fire, wondering what could make such a skilled warrior so skittish. When she pushed back her hood, he heard Halbarad gasp, and it took every bit of willpower he possessed not to do the same. This was no wood elf or high elf.

Charcoal grey skin flickered in the firelight, while silver eyes, so light that they were almost white, provided a stark contrast. Pure white hair, mussed from being under her hood, was swept back, disappearing in to her hooded tunic in what he assumed must be a long braid. Several strands had come loose and framed her face, which was angular and solemn. Strange white markings decorated the skin on her forehead and cheekbones. Arathorn could hardly believe his eyes. The woman that stared at him now could be none other than one of the lost Nenanore.

She watched him sharply, her body tense, as if to spring back should he attack her. He understood her fear now. The Nenanore, or Star People, were once a strong and proud race of elves led by a warrior queen and known as some of the most skilled fighters Middle Earth had ever seen. They had not been seen on Middle Earth in almost a thousand years, not since the Betrayal, when the great Nenanore had fallen.

According to the stories passed down by the Dunedain and the records in the elven halls of Lord Elrond, the fall of the Nenanore came when at least one of their own turned traitor and allied with an army led by some dark force in order to attack their own people in their home city of Amon Lanc. With the help of the traitor, the army was able to invade and destroy the Nenanore, and then in turn attacked many of the northern kingdoms, including the elven Kingdom of Mirkwood and the human city of Dale before Thranduil, King of the Green Wood and the wood elves, led his own army against them. They, along with Lord Elrond and his forces, managed to defeat them, but the place where the Nenanore had once dwelled still reeked of evil and dark sorcery, giving rise to its new name, Dol Guldur.

The Great Betrayal had happened nearly a thousand years ago, and, as what usually happens with the passage of time, the stories of the Nenanore had faded into myths and legends. Humans and dwarves, with their shorter life spans, no longer remembered the Nenanore as they were, thinking of them only as dark elves who were in league with the darkest forces of Middle Earth and were feared and hated. The elves never spoke of their fallen cousins, so Arathorn was unsure of their opinion on the matter.

For a moment, he contemplated the thought that she could have been one of the elves that turned her back on her people for power, but he quickly pushed that thought aside. She could have attacked them at any time in the last week, and yet she had exposed herself to help them fight off an attack and then saved his life.

"Halbarad, do me a favor and go retrieve my medical supplies from my pack. Here, Lady, let me see your wound," he said, breaking the tense silence. The Shadow's gaze jumped to his face, silver eyes wide in surprise.

"What," he said, enjoying her stunned looked, "Do you truly think that I would attack the very person who saved my life just moments ago?"

"You are very strange," she said, "the last time someone learned what I am, I ended up in chains and a stone cell."

Arathorn winced in sympathy, wondering what other horrors this woman had survived in her long years of life. Had she been alive to witness the fall of her people? He had always thought that the immortality of the elves was an incredible blessing, but perhaps, in some cases, it could become a curse as well.

A soft nicker in the trees behind them made him spin around, hand going for the sword sheathed at his side. A glove covered hand shot out and gently, but firmly, kept him from drawing his blade. He looked up into the shining silver eyes of the Nenanore. She shook her head slightly before turning to the sound and whistling softly. Another snort sounded before a horse wandered out of the woods and into the camp.

The creature was unlike any other horse Arathorn had ever seen. To start with, he was much larger than most horses, and his coat was the most unusual color- coal black, so dark it was nearly blue, shimmered in the firelight, while small flashes of silver sparkled throughout. His main and tail, both long but well brushed, were a stunning silver color that seemed as if it was made from the light of the moon. Shadow left his side and went to stand before the magnificent beast, murmuring softly in his ear. The horse snorted again and gently bumped her forehead with his soft muzzle. Turning back to the fire, the elf lead the horse closer to where a stunned Arathorn and Halbarad stood.

"This is Astoldoer, he is a Tinuroch and was raised by my people. He has been my companion for many long years and will not harm you," she said. Arathorn stood and approached the horse, holding out his hand for him to sniff. Astoldoer gently brushed his hand with velvety soft lips.

"You are a beautiful creature, my friend, and are welcome here, as is your mistress," he said softly, noting the intelligent gleam in the animal's equine eyes.

* * *

Thus began a great friendship between an elf and two Dunedain humans. Though she rarely ventured into their village, the Shadow was often in the company of the two rangers, and they made a formidable team.

**Hope you liked this, let me know what you think! I have chapters 1-4 done already, but I wanted to see what people thought before I add them here.**


	2. When Tragedy Strikes

**CHAPTER 1- 15 Years Later**

Ciara bent to fill her water skin in a small stream, savoring the quiet of the forest around her. Fall had arrived in an explosion of colors, ranging from golden yellow to vibrant red. The water flowed cold and clear, and colorful leaves floated on its surface. It had been nearly a year since she had last visited her Dunedain friends and she was looking forward to being in the company of others once more.

She found it hard to believe that it had already been fifteen years since she had first revealed herself to Arathorn and Halbarad, Arathorn's second in command and her close friend. Before she had run into them, she had spent hundreds of years in isolation, wandering Middle Earth with no one but Astoldoer, her steadfast elven mount, for company. It had been a lonely and cold existence. The two rough men had brought hope and joy back into her life with their acceptance of her, two things she had never thought to feel again after the Great Betrayal and the loss of her family.

Fifteen years was barely any time at all compared to the immortal lives of elves, but much had changed for the humans since she first met them. Five short years ago, Arathorn had indeed married his love, Lady Gilraen, after finally getting permission from her protective father, and the lady had been let in on their secret. Ciara knew that Gilraen had initially been rather disconcerted by her dark presence and hooded face, as most people were, but the gentle lady had simply pushed her discomfort aside and a deep friendship had formed between them. Though she did not see Gilraen as often as her other two friends, she found she enjoyed the presence and friendship of another woman.

Sadly, Arathorn's father, along with Halbarad's brother, had been killed in an orc attack only a year later, leaving Arathorn to take his father's place as the chieftain of the Dunedain. That had been a dark time for the Dunedain tribe, but hope had been reborn to them in the form of Arathorn's adorable son, whom he had named Aragorn. The boy would be two years old already and judging by what she had seen of other children in the Dunedain village, he would be growing fast.

Unfortunately, change was taking place outside the Dunedain village as well. Sightings of orcs and goblins had become more common place over the years, and whispers of dark and evil things in Mordor, an ancient fortress that had once been a breeding ground for evil, had spread even to the northern regions and the rangers. People were growing restless and more wary.

She had spent the last year traveling from the northern Dunedain village to the South in order to investigate some of these rumors for herself. As she would be traveling through Gondor, Arathorn had asked her to stop there and observe the human kingdom for him. What she found during her travels had disturbed her.

She had been unable to find a way into Mordor, as she had been blocked by orc patrols at every turn. The people of Gondor seemed to feel the evil stirring there, but made no move to prepare themselves against it. While the Steward was loyal to his people, and worked hard to take care of them, the kingdom was weakened by the absence of their king.

What made her most uneasy, however, were the whispered rumors that the Heir of Isildur had been found, that he and his line had been hiding in the woods, posing as rangers, since they disappeared without a trace. She could not identify where these rumors had originated from, but if she was hearing them, so was the enemy. Someday soon, Arathorn would need to return to Gondor and claim his rightful place on the throne. If the enemy got to him first, however, Gondor and all of Arda would suffer as the evil in Mordor grew.

Ciara shook herself, trying to push away the heavy thoughts. She took a deep breath, breathing in the soothing scents of fall leaves, cool air, and clean water. This time of the year was always her favorite, when the leaves themselves became the most vibrant of flowers and the earth prepared herself for the coming winter.

"Well, Astoldoer, mellon-nin, shall we move on? I am anxious to see our friends again, and I am sure you would like some of the fair oats that Halbarad always gives you! If we keep a steady pace up, we should be there by the end of today," She said, earning an enthusiastic snort from her companion.

Ciara hummed contentedly as they came within sight of the humble village that the Northern rangers called home and she paused for a moment to take in the peaceful sight. The sun was just about to set, painting the wood and mud houses in warm tones and streaking the sky with colors of red, orange, and pink. The residents of the little settlement went about their business and she sighed happily. She was looking forward to seeing her friends again.

The Dunedain gave her cautious, though not unfriendly, waves as she entered the village and rode towards Arathorn's house. As she dismounted, the front door opened and Gilraen stepped out with little Aragorn on her hip. She tried not to stare- the child had grown so much since her last visit! The adorable two-year-old stared at her with unblinking grey eyes before he grinned and giggled happily. His lack of fear warmed her heart.

Gilraen smiled warmly and shifted Aragorn to a more comfortable position. Ciara looked the human woman over closely. Her long golden hair was slightly tangled, and her dress was stained with some unknown substance, no doubt something spilled by her son, but she looked to be in good spirits.

"Shadow, welcome! It has been so long since your last visit. Please, come inside, Arathorn will be excited to see you when he returns," she said.

"Arathorn is well?" Ciara asked, anxious to hear word of her friend.

"Oh yes, quite well. He rode out yesterday with Elladan and Elrohir to hunt down a pack of orcs causing trouble somewhere south of here. The twins arrived earlier this week," the lady said.

Ciara felt herself grin as she pictured the twin elven lords. Although she did not know them well, they were good friends with Arathorn, and often joined him on patrols whenever they could escape from their duties and their father, the Lord of Imladris. Though they were full of mischief and laughter, their reputations as some of the fiercest warriors in Imladris was well earned, if the tales she had heard were true. She had met them in passing several times while traveling with Arathorn, though she never stayed around long enough to get to know them once they arrived. While Elrohir was ever wary of her, and usually stayed away, his brother seemed more curious than wary.

"And Halbarad, he is doing well?" she asked. Gilraen gave her a quick side hug, careful not to squish her young son.

"He is fine. I believe he is in his hut at the moment. He will be so glad to see you!" she grinned. Ciara grinned back from under her hood, relieved to hear that all was well.

Ciara was turning toward Astoldoer, intending to remove her sparse belongings from his back, when she caught the faint sound of pounding hooves. She turned to look across the village towards the sound. A moment later, three horses came into view. At first, she relaxed as she took note of the two white elven stallions and the sturdy brown gelding that Arathorn rode. Then she realized that the gelding's saddle was empty. Frantically she looked from the gelding to the riders of the Stallions.

Elladan looked grim, his usual smirk was gone and black blood was splashed across his armor and face. Elrohir looked equally grim, and Ciara gasped when she noticed his arm wrapped around Arathorn, who was slumped forward in front of him. They thundered through the village, coming to a sudden halt in front of Ciara and Gilraen. Gilraen cried out and raced towards Elrohir and her husband. Ciara moved to take Arathorn from Elrohir so that he could dismount but Elladan was already there.

"What happened?" Gilraen cried, tears threatening as she looked down at her husband. His rough brown tunic was stained red and black as orc and human blood mixed together. A black arrow, crude in its design, protruded from the left side of his chest, and a deep knife wound ran across his belly. Little Aragorn grasped a lock of Gilraen's hair and started to cry, sensing the tension, fear, and grief in the air.

"We were ambushed, we need to get him inside, quickly," Elladan said, striding towards the door. Ciara whirled and darted in front of him to hold the door open, then followed behind them and shut the door quietly. They laid Arathorn out on the bed, blood oozing from both wounds onto the clean linens. His face was so still and pale, as if he had already passed from this world on to the next.

"Come, My Lady, this is not for the eyes of the little one to see. Show me where your husband keeps strips of linens for bandages," Elrohir said, gently pulling Gilraen away from the gruesome picture her husband presented.

* * *

"You are Arathorn's friend, the Shadow, are you not?" Elladan asked in a quiet voice. The woman standing on the other side of the bed from him looked up and nodded once from beneath her dark hood. He took a brief moment to study her, trying to gauge whether or not he could trust her. He knew from his past interactions with her, few though they were, that she had to be an elf. No human or dwarf could ever hope to move with the grace and fluidity of an elf.

As usual, she wore loose black clothes over her thin frame that seemed to fit poorly and were dirty and ragged, as if they had been worn too many times. Her face was completely covered by a heavy black hood and black scarf, while black leather gloves covered her hands. A one-handed sword and a smaller saber were strapped across her back, alongside a quiver of arrows and an unstrung bow. A long knife rested on each hip, and he thought he could make out the shape of a smaller knife tucked into one of her well-worn boots. Despite the poor quality of her clothing, his practiced eye could see that her weapons were made with incredible craftmanship. Matching swirling designs of gold and, if his eyes did not deceive him, Mithril were inlaid into the copper handles of the swords and knives. The few times he had had the privilege of watching her wield those weapons had proven that the quality of the blades matched that of the handles, though he had never had the opportunity to observe them up close. He also knew that she was an incredibly skilled fighter, and could wield those weapons with an ease born of familiarity and hundreds of years of practice.

He knew that Elrohir was warry of the dark warrior and had often counselled Arathorn against his friendship with her. Elladan could understand his twin's unease, the woman was menacing and dark. That she had never removed her hood or even spoken to him, a fellow elf, had always bothered him. But he also had great trust in his human friend's judgement when it came to the character of others and Arathorn had always spoken of the woman with a great fondness and respect. Elladan decided that he would trust his friend's judgement for now.

"Arathorn spoke highly of you during our time together, and I have been impressed with your skills the few times we have met. It is a shame we should meet again under such dire circumstances," he said, keeping his voice low.

"How can I help?" The Shadow asked. He nearly flinched but quickly hid his surprise at hearing her voice for the first time. It was low and rough, as though strained and unused, lacking in the musical element that most elves possessed.

"Help staunch the blood flow. I need to go get water to cleanse the wounds," Elladan instructed.

* * *

Ciara moved forward and placed her hands firmly over the wound across Arathorn's stomach as she fought back panic and tears. Blood quickly swelled around her black gloves, making the leather feel slippery and warm.

As soon as Elladan was satisfied with the pressure Ciara was applying to the wound, he strode off in search of fresh water. He was gone for what felt like moments, and yet seemed to last lifetimes, before he was back at her side with a bowl of clean water. Elrohir appeared next to him, arms full of torn linens and other healing supplies. Gilraen could be heard crying quietly somewhere in another part of the house, while one of the men from the village murmured words of comfort to her. Ciara stepped to the front of the bed to allow the other elves better access to their patient. Their father, Lord Elrond, was known throughout Middle Earth as one of the most skilled healers alive. Ciara prayed that he had passed his knowledge on to his sons.

She took a damp cloth and ran it over Arathorn's grime covered forehead, wiping away blood, dirt and sweat. Suddenly, his dark grey eyes flew open and he looked around, landing on Ciara's face just a foot away from his own. They were dull and full of pain, so unlike the usually clear and brilliant gaze that she was used to.

"Ciara?" He asked, his voice little more than a hoarse whisper. Ciara winced at the use of her real name and darted a glance towards Elladan and Elrohir. Fortunately, they were both absorbed in their effort to staunch the blood flow and did not appear to have heard him.

"Shh, mellon-nin, rest easy now. You were injured, Elladan and Elrohir are working to patch you up," She said, wiping the cloth across his brow again. Elladan paused for a moment as he realized that Arathorn was awake, then continued working.

"Ah, mellon, I am afraid not even the powers of the wonder twins can help me now," he said in wheezing gasps. He paused a moment to cough, the sound wet and ominous, and Ciara noticed flecks of blood on his lips. Her heart fell.

"Nay, there must be something we can do, some way to fix this!" she cried, her vision clouding with tears.

"I am afraid my time has come. You have been a good friend to me, but I must ask for one last favor," he said. Vaguely, as if in a dream, she realized that the twins had stopped their frantic attempt to halt the blood and were now simply trying to make their friend more comfortable. Elrohir stood and left the room, likely to go speak with Gilraen and tell her the terrible news.

"Anything, gwanur, I would do anything for you," she said, forcing her words past the tight lump in her throat. *_brother_

"You know that the Dunedain have descended from a line of Elves and Kings," he said weakly, "and that my son, Aragorn, is Isildur's heir, destined to one day take the throne of Gondor. This attack from the orcs was not random, somehow the enemy has figured out that the line of kings was not broken as they suspected."

Ciara felt her heart break, if only she had gotten here sooner to warn them of what she had learned during their travels! Then she thought of the sweet two year old in the other room, and her chest tightened with worry. What their enemies wouldn't give to get their hands on the future king of Gondor before he could take the throne, or even grow old enough to defend himself, Ciara thought, shuddering.

"This is why I must ask that you take my wife and child to the home of Lord Elrond. He has agreed to foster Aragorn as his own. He will hide and protect Aragorn from those who hunt him until he is strong enough to lead the Dunedain. Please, go with Elladan and Elrohir, and see that my family is safely brought to Rivendale," Arathorn said, ending his plea with another wet cough. Ciara thought of the adorable grey eyed child, then of Gondor's desperate need to have their king returned to them. Without Arathorn to help shoulder the weight, Aragorn would be given a heavy burden. Yet without him there to lead his people, Middle Earth itself may be in danger.

* * *

Arathorn looked through bleary eyes into the dark hood of the woman who had become such a close friend and confidant. Thinking of how lonely she had been before they met made his heart ache, and he worried what would happen to her once he was gone. Halbarad would now have to spend his time leading their people deep into the wilds, it was too dangerous for the Dunedain to remain here. He also worried deeply about Gilraen. The bond they shared was deep and strong, and he knew that his death would affect her greatly.

He hoped that by sending her to Lord Elrond with his son, he would open the way for Ciara to end her life of solitude in the wilds. He also knew that she was fond of Gilraen and that the two women would be a comfort to each other.

"Of course, gwanur, Im qest- na beri- hain mui cuil. Your family will make it safely to Imladris and I will watch over Aragorn as he grows into the king his people need," she said softly, pressing her forehead to his as two crystalline tears splashed onto his face._ *I swear to protect them with my life_

* * *

"Arathorn?" Gilraen said, startling her. Ciara looked up to see the lady standing across the bed from her, her eyes puffy and red and tears streaming down her cheeks. She noticed with a start that darkness had fallen, and candles had been lit around the room. Ciara stood and left the room, giving the couple privacy in their last moments together. Elladan followed her out and they joined Elrohir in the main room of the house.

"What happened out there?" Ciara demanded, her voice harsher than she had meant it to be. Elladan lifted a brow at her stiff tone but did not comment on it.

"We rode out yesterday morning after receiving reports of a roving band of orcs that were causing havoc south of here. It seems they were waiting for us; it was a trap. This morning we were ambushed by a group no smaller than forty in number. We fought hard but were sorely outnumbered. He took the arrow to the chest first. I saw him fall but could not get to him right away, as there were orcs between us. By the time I reached him, he had already received the stomach wound and was unconscious. As soon as they saw that Elrohir and I were whittling down their numbers, and that Arathorn had fallen, they fled. We would have gone after them, but Arathorn was too badly wounded," Elladan explained.

"Do they know that the child yet lives, or do they believe that the line of kings has been successfully broken?" she wondered, voicing her thoughts aloud. She did not expect an answer, for there was no way for any of them to know how much information their enemies possessed.

"Arathorn must have great faith in you, to have told you the truth of his lineage and to entrust his family into your protection," Elladan said quietly. Elrohir looked at Ciara with surprise.

"He told you his son is the heir of Isildur?" Elrohir asked in disbelief. Ciara shifted to stare past the shadow of her hood and up into his face.

"He did," she said simply, her voice betraying no hint of the grief that threatened to overwhelm her.

"It was about two months ago now that one of his rangers brought news of orcs searching for the lost heir of Gondor. Arathorn immediately sent word to my father, begging him for protection for his son. We were to escort all three of them to Imladris in three days' time. We had no idea that the enemy had already figured out who the heir was," Elladan said, regret coloring his melodious voice. Ciara felt shame flood through her, if only she had arrived just a little sooner, she may have been able to warn Arathorn. She should have been there to help them, but she was too late, always too late.

"So, we leave for Imladris immediately then?" She asked. Elladan nodded but Elrohir looked her over suspiciously.

"I do not know you, Shadow, though I have heard tales of you, both from Arathorn and others. If he has decided to trust you with his secret and the wellbeing of his wife and child, then I shall accept his decision. But know this, if you ever harm either one of them, or share the child's secret with another, I will not hesitate to end your life," Elrohir said. Ciara narrowed her eyes from beneath the cover of her hood, though in truth she respected the warrior's devotion to her friend and his family.

"Now, with that out of the way," Elladan broke in, "We must be prepared to flee at once. We can no longer tarry here."

Before she could respond, an anguished cry came from the bedroom. The three elves rushed into the room to find Gilraen with her face buried in Arathorn's shoulder. The vacant stare in his eyes and the stillness of his chest told Ciara all she needed to know. Her whole body tensed as rage and grief roared through her, momentarily blocking out her awareness of the world around her.

The feeling of her own nails digging into the flesh of her palms managed to bring her back from the brink of the raging storm that tried to swallow her whole. Her breath became ragged as she grabbed hold of her emotions and stuffed them deep down inside of her and locked them away. Elrohir eyed her warily but said nothing as he moved towards the bedd.

Spinning on her heel, she left the room and exited the house. She folded her arms and stared out into the dark night without truly seeing, fighting the tears that threatened. If she allowed herself to cry now, all those emotions would come pouring out. Eventually, she knew, she would need to unlock the storm and find a way to deal with the strong emotions that Arathorn's death caused within her, but right now, Gilraen and Aragorn needed her to be strong and fully functioning.

She jumped as a hand landed on her shoulder and was shocked to see that she hadn't noticed Halbarad come up next to her.

"He's gone, isn't he?" Halbarad said quietly, his own grief clear in his voice. She nodded once but said nothing. His gentle hand squeezed her shoulder, the only comfort he could give. She placed her own hand on top of his, giving him comfort in return, neither of them noticing the blood staining her glove. He took a shuddering breath, and when she glanced at him, she saw that tears had made their way down his tanned face.

"I know Arathorn meant to make for Rivendale, with Elrohir and Elladan," Halbarad said softly, eyeing the cloaked elf beside him. Ciara nodded.

"Will you be going with them, then?" he asked. Another nod. Halbarad sighed and used his free hand to rub at his eyes. Though her heavily cloaked form showed no sign of it, he knew her well enough by now to know that she was grieving the Chieftain deeply, just as he was. Getting his dear friend to talk in good times was difficult enough, but now she was like a statue, detached and silent. He wished he could see her face, see the emotions that were surely displayed there, hidden safely from view.

"When will you be leaving?" he asked, not sure if he would get an answer or not. Ciara stirred slightly.

"Tonight, as soon as the pyre has been lit. We cannot afford to wait for the enemy to grow bold enough to attack again. Aragorn and Gilraen must be protected," she said, her voice low and flat, completely devoid of any emotion. Then she turned towards him fully.

"You must now take up the reigns of chieftain, Halbarad," she said softly. Halbarad shook his head, though he knew that it is what Arathorn would have wanted.

"I could never, Shadow. I am just a ranger, I served Arathorn and I will serve Aragorn, when the time comes. I am not fit to be a chieftain," he said, pulling away from her slightly. Suddenly, she grasped him by his shoulders and turned her face up to his, allowing the torch light to illuminate her eyes under her hood. Halbarad was startled, both by the sudden movement and by the raging storm that burned in her strange silver eyes.

"Arathorn trusted you above all others in his company, save Gilraen. You must step up and take his place. The Dunedain will need a chieftain, someone to lead them in the dark times ahead. Without a leader, the Dunedain will fall, as surely as rain falls to the ground. I may not have the gift of foresight, but I know in my heart that the Dunedain still yet have a role to play in this world. Aragorn will grow to be a great man, but he will need the help and backing of his people if he is ever to become a king of men. If you do not lead the Dunedain, there will be no one left to call him Chieftain when he is old enough," she said. Although her voice was no louder than a whisper, it was fierce and confident, rolling the way thunder rolls across the great plains to the south. He knew that she believed every word she spoke to the bottom of her being.

"Arathorn may have trusted me, but I would never be able to fill his shoes," Halbarad said, fighting against the despair and grief that seemed to rush upon him in waves. The elf sighed, lowering her face and once more casting her features into shadow.

"I know, mellon-nin, I know. I doubt that such a feat would be possible for any man, save for perhaps his son. But the best way we can honor his memory is to make sure that his son is able to grow up into a strong and good man, and that his people, whom he loved so much, are still there for Aragorn to lead when the time comes," she said, her voice much softer now. Halbarad felt the truth of her words and knew that he would do whatever it took to ensure the future of his people and his future king.


	3. Flight to Imladris

**Many thanks to Aya Noel for the reviews! You have given me the courage to post the rest of what I have written. I did struggle with the transition from her friendship with Arathorn to the rest of the story and eventually just decided to spend my time on the bulk of what I had imagined for this story. Hopefully the rest will not feel as rushed. I may go back in and add some more scenes of Ciara, Arathorn, and Halbarad, or I may just include flashbacks of their time together. **

* * *

**CHAPTER 2**

Ciara rode in front of the others, leading their small group through the trees. As a Nenanore Elf, her silver eyes could see better in the dark than almost any other, save for maybe dwarves, and the stars sung to her the way the trees sung to the wood elves. While the other two elves were unaware of this, she also knew these woods better than anyone else in their little group, making her the natural choice to lead them through the dark forest.

They had left the village behind several hours ago, the light of the pyre still glowing brightly behind them. Normally, the funeral for a Dunedain chief would take place the following evening after their death, and people would take the day before to prepare themselves. Then they would lay the body out for all to see and say the traditional prayers and stories of their people before setting torches to the pyre, as they had when Arathorn's father had passed.

This time, however, they were able to do little more than light the pyre and say a few prayers before fleeing into the night. Halbarad would stay until the next morning, when there would be little but embers left. He would then gather the ashes and scatter them in the tradition of their people before leading the remaining Dunedain deep into hiding. Gilraen had wanted to stay with him until the next morning, but the elves knew that they had to move quickly before the enemy gathered their forces for another attack.

The only sound to be heard now was the creak of saddle gear and the soft clop of horse hooves on dirt. The twins held their bows at the ready, arrows knocked on their strings, and used only their knees to guide their horses. Ciara had convinced the elf lords to rub ash from a hearth fire into their coats to disguise the bright white, and they now looked dull and shapeless against their dark surroundings.

"My lady, you almost slipped out of the saddle," Ciara heard one of the twins say quietly. She turned to look back at the lady and saw that she was fighting to keep her eyes open. Little Aragorn, bundled in a dark, thick coat, had fallen asleep and was slumped against his mother's chest.

Ciara realized the woman must be exhausted, though she had not complained. She was unused to hard travel, as she did not roam the wilds as her husband had. That, along with the stress and grief that she must be feeling, as well as the weight of the child in her arms, had clearly drained her of her energy long ago. Ciara marveled at the strength of the woman as she slowly drew herself upright and repositioned her sleeping child.

"I am fine, my apologies. It seems that the night is wearing on me," she said softly. Ciara frowned. They did not have time to stop for rest, as they were hardly out of the valley where the village resided, yet if something did not change, they risked the lady falling from the saddle and taking Aragorn with her.

"My lady, give Aragorn to me," she said, slowing Astoldoer so that she rode beside the lady. Elrohir cast her a suspicious glance, but she ignored him. If she could lighten her friend's burden by carrying the child so that Gilraen could rest a little, she would.

"I'm fine, my friend. I can make it a little further," Lady Gilraen said, doing her best to be strong in the presence of the immortals. Ciara shook her head.

"You are no elf, to go days without sleep, and we have a long way to go yet. You have carried Aragorn for several hours now and need rest. I will keep him safe," she said in response.

"Once you have handed the little one to the Shadow, Lady, you can move over to my horse and sit in front of me. I will hold you in the saddle while you sleep, so that you do not fall from your horse," Elladan said gently, also easing closer to the exhausted woman. Gilraen gave them a grateful, though wobbly, smile and handed the sleeping Aragorn over to Ciara. A quiet sob escaped her, and she suddenly buried her face in her hands.

"I'm s-sorry, it's just been so much. I can't believe that he is truly gone. You all have been s-so kind, and I know th-that there was not time for a p-proper funeral, b-but I just can't be as s-strong as you are," the woman said brokenly.

"There now, do not worry, my lady. You let yourself rest and we will get you and the child to Imladris safely," Elladan said softly. He leaned over and scooped the crying woman from her saddle, placing her gently before him on his own mount. Elrohir silently grabbed the reigns of her horse and tied them to his saddle, making sure the poor beast did not wander off.

Ciara started slightly at the feel of a small, warm body snuggling in closer to hers. She looked down at the tiny, precious boy in her lap with fascination and wonder. He was so fragile and small, yet he trusted her completely. She could not remember the last time she had held a child in her arms or felt the comforting weight of a warm body pressed against her own. His warmth helped to hold the feelings of rage and grief inside her at bay. Gently, so as not to wake him, she brushed a few dark, unruly curls out of his face, and his sleepy little sigh warmed her heart. She would do whatever it took to keep him safe.

* * *

They did not stop that night except for the briefest of moments to see to their needs and eat. The next day dawned bright and sparkling. The sky was achingly blue, and the colors of the fall leaves were vivid, dancing like a wildfire around them. Ciara barely noticed the brilliant colors that she had so admired just the day before. To her, the world appeared bleached and dark, lacking in color and joy without her dear friend in it to brighten her world.

The only bright spot for her was Gilraen and little Aragorn. Gilraen had moved back onto her own horse once daylight broke, and the four of them had taken turns carrying the child as they traveled. Aragorn seemed blissfully unaware of the tragedy that had befallen his family and seem to see their frantic escape through the woods as a grand adventure. Everything fascinated him, from the pretty fall leaves that fell around them to the sight of a hunting hawk swooping in the sky above them.

He sat in front of Elrohir now, who was looking at him and making funny faces. Aragorn laughed and babbled in the language that only a two year old can understand while he bounced in the saddle. Fascinated with the elf before him, he reached out and grasped onto a silky smooth, brown lock of hair, tugging on it. Elrohir winced and gently tried to rescue his hair from the terrifying grip of the two year old. Ciara chuckled, her mood lightened by the simple exchange.

They made good progress, and as the sun began to sink below the line of trees, Ciara looked to where her friend in front of her. Gilraen was trying not to let her exhaustion show, but Ciara, who knew her well, could see it in the too stiff way she held herself in her saddle and in the slight strain on her beautiful face. Her horse was also tiring. The poor beast did not have the stamina of the elven mounts, and his head drooped as they plodded steadily along. Eventually, even Aragorn had begun to tire, his fascination with the world around him had dulled and he became fussy and irritable, only calming when Gilraen took him in her arms.

"We should rest tonight. There is a clearing not far ahead that would make for a good campsite- there are boulders that will shield us from the wind and prying eyes," she said, nudging Astoldoer forward next to Elladan, who sat in the lead. He looked as though he would argue, no doubt wanting to put more distance between them and their possible enemies, but after a quick glance at the tired lady and cranky two-year-old his face softened.

"You are right, they cannot go much farther tonight. I sometimes forget how fragile humans can be. We will have to keep watch tonight and be extra vigilant. I don't think we are far enough away quite yet that we can risk a fire. Perhaps tomorrow night, if we cover enough distance during the day," he replied. Ciara nodded, agreeing with his assessment. She fell back and took the rear guard once more, content to let Elladan lead. Even she would be grateful for the chance to stretch her tired muscle and feel the stable ground beneath her feet once more.

As they reached the clearing Ciara had spoken of, Elladan turned in his saddle and addressed their little group.

"We will rest here tonight. Elrohir, help me set up camp. Shadow, help Lady Gilraen dismount and care for her horse," Elladan said. Ciara gave a slight bow, barely more than a nod of her head, and quickly dismounted. Gilraen's shoulder's sagged in obvious relief, while Aragorn wriggled in her arms, even more anxious than she was to get down off the horse.

Gilraen handed Aragorn to Ciara, and he immediately began to cry, reaching his little arms up to where his mother still sat upon her horse. Ciara tilted her head so that her mouth was near his ear and started singing an elven lullaby to the little boy. After a moment his crying stopped and he stared at her with wide grey eyes. She shifted the little boy to her left hip, freeing up her right hand to help her friend.

* * *

Gilraen accepted the outstretched hand and wearily climbed down from her exhausted horse. Her stiff legs nearly buckled as she hit the ground and she took a moment for them to regain some feeling. Her muscle were painfully sore, and her skin was chaffed from rubbing against leather all day. How Arathorn had spent days riding in that cursed saddle, and even enjoyed it, she would never know. She glanced at Ciara's intimidating mount and shuddered.

The majestic and terrifying horse stood taller than even the horses of the elven lords. His coat was as black as coal, blending in seamlessly with the dark trees at night, and his silky main and tail were a beautiful silver color that seemed to sparkle in the light. If Gilraen had tried to ride that beast, she never would have stayed on.

Once Gilraen's legs were mostly working again, she turned to Ciara and her son. The boy squirmed restlessly, leaning over Ciara's arm to reach for her.

"Mama!" Aragorn said petulantly, opening and closing his chubby little fists in frustration. He had been so good for most of their long ride, but he had been pushed past his limits and she knew that nothing but food and a nice long nap would soothe him now. Gilraen sympathized- her mind felt fuzzy and slow, and she wanted nothing more than to close her eyes and sleep on the solid, unmoving ground.

"I can take him now, thanks for holding him for me," Gilraen said. Ciara handed Aragorn off to her but then froze suddenly. They hadn't realized that Aragorn's little hand was gipping the back of Ciara's hood and when she handed the child over, his gripped had pulled the hood off her head. Her white hair was like a beacon in the fading light, and there was no mistaking the dark color of her skin.

Behind them, the two Rivendell elves had stopped what they were doing. Elladan stared at Ciara with curiosity, while Elrohir's hand was suddenly wrapped tightly around the hilt of his sword. Gilraen felt her face pale as Ciara shifted so that her back was no longer to the other elves and they were within her line of sight.

"I am so sorry- I didn't realize…" Gilraen started. Ciara held up a hand, cutting her off.

"Its fine, my friend, I know you did not mean to cause an issue," Ciara said to her, though her face was turned toward the elven warriors. Elrohir drew his sword and Gilraen gasped, torn between stepping back to protect her child and stepping forward to defend her friend.

"Please, Elrohir, there is no need for violence," she said, trying to defuse a situation that was quickly turning volatile.

"Step away from Isildur's Heir and the lady," Elrohir demanded, pointing his sword strait at Ciara.

* * *

Ciara lifted her hands into the air and slowly stepped away from Gilraen and Aragorn, though her instincts were screaming at her to draw her own blade in response and defend Arathorn's family.

"Lady Gilraen, bring the child here, we will protect you," Elrohir said, his gaze menacing and dark as he stared at Ciara.

"I would never harm the Lady Gilraen, nor would I ever let harm come to the child of Arathorn," She said slowly, forcing herself to swallow the rage that surged through her at the sight of a blade pointed at her.

"Peace, brother, I do not believe she means us any harm. Arathorn trusted her with his life and the lives of his family, he would not have done so lightly," Elladan said, speaking for the first time since the altercation began.

"Did he know what she was? A Nenanore cannot be trusted, those who are left in Middle Earth are traitors, servants of the darkness. And you are Nenanore, are you not?" Elrohir hissed, taking a threatening step toward her. Ciara clenched her fists, hating the world for only remembering the evil done by a few of her people, and forgetting all that was once honorable and good. Then she sighed.

She had known from the start of this journey that she would have to reveal herself to these elves eventually. One could not travel with someone for days without revealing their face. As much as she wanted to draw her own sword and fight Elrohir, a fight that she knew she could easily win, they had to put their prejudices aside and fight together if they had any hope of safely transporting Arathorn's wife and child to Rivendell.

"I am, but I am no traitor. My name is Ciara," she said, slowly reaching up with one hand and pulling the scarf off her face. Elrohir moved so that he stood directly between Ciara and her friend.

* * *

Elladan studied the Nenanore before him. He had suspected long ago that she may be at least part Nenanore- why else would an elf hide her face and name from other elves? The elf standing before him, however, was not merely a descendant of the Nenanore, but a full blooded Nenanore warrior.

Pure white hair was braided back from her face, though several strands had managed to escape, and it was mussed and tangled. Apparently not even elven hair could escape the effects of being constantly shoved under a hood.

Her skin was a dark grey, contrasting starkly with intense eyes that were silver, so light that they almost appeared to be white. There were white markings across her forehead and under her eyes, and he knew that they held some sort of significance, but he could not recall the exact meaning of them. The elves of Rivendell had not often come into contact with their dark kin before their fall.

"Arathorn knew of my heritage, my Lord. Our Princess, now our Queen, and most of those who survived the slaughter, fled this continent, but not all of us managed to make it to the grey havens before our ships departed. There are still a few of us who roam Middle Earth, but we remain in hiding, as the people of this world have grown to hate and fear us," the dark elf said. Elladan blinked, he had never heard her speak so much in one breath before.

Like his brother, Elladan had believed that any Nenanore that had survived the Betrayal had sailed on to the undying lands, leaving only the traitors behind. While his first thought had been to wonder if the woman before him was one of the traitors, he had trusted in Arathorn's judgement of character and knew that the man would never have risked sending the Shadow with his wife and child if he had thought that she was even the smallest of threats.

Elrohir glanced at him and Elladan shook his head. Reluctantly, Elrohir lowered his sword and sheathed it, stepping back from Ciara. The dark elf relaxed slightly, though her face still showed her own mistrust and wariness.

"I will take the first watch," she said, before pulling up her hood and fading silently into the woods around them. Elladan resisted a shudder at her ghostly departure, even for an elf she was eerily silent. With an effort, he turned his back to the trees and began setting up the camp. The elves had no need for a tent or bed roll, but the child would need to be kept warm through the chilly fall night, and Gilraen would no doubt appreciate something soft to sleep on.

Elrohir joined him as he was setting up the tent which was little more than a large piece of canvas and two ropes. They worked together in silence for several long moments, and Elladan looked over to see his brothers face creased in concern.

"I don't trust her. What proof do we have that she is not in league with the enemy?" he finally asked. Elladan sighed.

"She was friends with Arathorn for many years, I must believe that he would not trust her without reason," he stated.

"But if she was not part of the group that betrayed her people, then why did she not sale with those who survived? Why stay behind in Arda, and hide from everyone, including other elves? It makes no sense," Elrohir argued.

"I am sure there are any number of reasons as to why she did not sail with her kin. If we have any hope of making it home, we will have to work with her. She has made it clear that she cares deeply for the two humans, and I doubt she will let us run her off easily," he responded. Elrohir huffed. The hair lifting howl of an orc echoed in the distance, causing all in the clearing to freeze. Another cry answered the first, and Elladan was relieved to hear that it was quite far off.

"We are being hunted," Elrohir said quietly. Elladan nodded.

"We cannot go further tonight, but we will have to push forward as fast as the horses and the humans can go if we are to reach safety in time," he said solemnly.

* * *

**There you have it, the secret is out! Hopefully this isn't too anti-climactic. The many of the elves were alive before the Nenanore fell, after all. **


	4. The Power of a Tinu Naur

**CHAPTER 3**

Ciara stocked through the trees near their little camp, pre-dawn mist swirling around her boots as she moved. Her stomach roiled with a mixture of anger and grief, which she stubbornly refused to acknowledge. Soon, she would need to find an outlet for all the negative emotions, but she could not risk letting down her guard while Aragorn and Gilraen were still exposed. She also didn't want them caught in the crossfire of her rage when it finally exploded from her. Her mood was not helped by the fact that she had not rested since their journey began, secretly afraid that if she gave in to her body's needs, something terrible would happen to Gilraen or Aragorn.

It had been nearly a week since her secret was exposed to all. Gilraen had apologized profusely but Ciara held no anger against her friend or her young son. It could not be helped, and perhaps it was better that they found out sooner rather than later.

Elladan seemed to have grown accustomed to her presence, and while he was never overly friendly with her, he was at least courteous enough not to grip his sword whenever she came near. Elrohir, on the other hand, still showed a great deal of animosity towards her. He had spent the entire week subtly trying to keep her away from little Aragorn, while his hand never drifted far from his weapons. His eyes watched her constantly, sparkling with mistrust and dislike.

A few more steps and she emerged from the trees into the small clearing where they had made camp for the night. Pausing, she took a moment to make sure that her hood was securely in place. Though she no longer needed to conceal what she was and had stopped covering her face with the scarf, she was uncomfortable having her face fully exposed around others after so many years of anonymity.

Satisfied that she was somewhat protected from glaring elven eyes, she purposely made her steps loud so that her traveling companions would not be startled by her arrival. Gilraen and Aragorn had still been asleep in their small tent when she had left to scout out the path ahead of them but they were awake now. Little Aragorn sat on his mother's lap while she combed through his tangled, curly black hair. He looked up as she approached and she smiled, her tumultuous emotions calming at the sight of his chubby cheeks and bright eyes.

He held out one chubby fist to her, which was closed tightly around something. She knelt before him and ruffled his hair, ignoring the disgruntled look Gilraen sent her for having undone her work with the comb.

"Good morning, little sprout. What have you got there?" she asked, holding out her own hand to receive his mysterious gift. Aragorn smiled and happily turned his hand over to dump something in her hand. Ciara froze and nearly threw the little gift across the clearing as she felt the cold, slimy wriggling of a worm in her hand.

"Ah, ahem. Thank you for the gift. But perhaps your little friend will be happier in the earth, where it can burrow in the dirt?" she said, careful to keep the disgust from her voice and glad that her hood hid her reaction.

"Worms like dirt," the boy said. Ciara nodded emphatically, ignoring the teasing glint in Gilraen's eyes and the way her shoulders shook as she contained her laughter.

"You're right. So I am just going to put the worm in the dirt over here, where it won't get stepped on, ok?" she said. Aragorn nodded and Ciara quickly deposited the wriggling creature in the dirt before trying to discreetly wipe her slimed gloves off on her pants. Seeing that Aragorn had moved on from the worm and was now avidly telling his mother about the beetle he had seen the night before, she stood and walked over to where Elladan was securing the tent that Gilraen had used to his horse. Elrohir was nowhere to be seen, most likely out trying to hunt for some fresh food and gather what berries were hardy enough to last through the fall.

"The forest is quiet this morning. Just beyond this clearing, the valley opens up and you can see where the East Road meets the river in the distance," she reported. Elladan looked over at her and nodded, relief clear in his eyes.

"We should be able to get to the Last Bridge by the end of today, so long as we don't run into any trouble, and then we should be able to find an Imladris patrol from there as Father will know to look for us. It may be wise to travel through the night, I wouldn't say no to an extra escort," he replied. Ciara nodded in agreement.

Although they had not run into trouble yet, they had spent each night listening to the eerie calls of orcs and goblins and the sounds of heavy boots trampling the forest behind them. They hadn't been able to light a fire since they had started out, afraid that it would draw their enemies to them. There was no doubt that they were being pursued, and it was only a matter of time before the enemy caught up with them. The sooner they could get the heir of the throne of Gondor to safety the better.

* * *

As Elladan had predicted, they merged with the East Road and were within sight of the Last Bridge just as the sun was setting low in the sky. The river sparkled under the fading sun while leaves of every color lined its banks. The image it presented was peaceful and serene, but Ciara knew that this was potentially the most dangerous part of their trip, since they had to take the public road to cross the river.

When they got to the river, they took a short break, letting the horses drink and rest while they saw to their own needs before riding on through the night. They were just about to mount up when Astoldoer suddenly snorted and Ciara's sensitive ears picked up the faint sound of booted feet on hard ground. She turned and surveyed the road behind them, feeling her stomach clench as she saw the group of orcs ambling down the road. There looked to be somewhere around seventeen of them, some of which were mounted on wargs. She cursed their bad luck; had they arrived any earlier, the sun would have been too bright for the light-sensitive orcs and they would still be in whatever holes they had crawled out of.

"We've got company," she muttered quietly. The elves both turned to look back at the road, while Gilraen grabbed her son and held him close to her.

"I don't think they have seen us yet. If we hurry, we may be able to return to the trees and hide until they have passed," Elladan said. Ciara looked at the horses and then back at the approaching orcs. If they were spotted, she wasn't sure that they could outrun the approaching danger. Orcs were incredibly swift when they wanted to be, and both the horses and riders were weary from a week of hard travel. Even the elven mounts were showing signs of tiring, though Astoldoer seemed far less affected. Gilraen's poor horse was clearly exhausted and simply stood with his head low to the ground. He would not be able to keep up with the others if they had to make a break for it.

Moving slowly so as to try and avoid detection, they quietly led the horses back up the bank to the flat grassy area that stood between them and the protection of the trees. Ciara was just beginning to hope that they might continue unseen when she heard a shout from the group of orcs and looked to see that they had increased their speed. They were out of time.

"They've seen us. Gilraen, your mount will not be able to keep up with the elven horses. Give Aragorn to one of the twins and take Astoldoer. There may be a chance that you can flee across the river and find help closer to the Imladris border," she said quickly. Gilraen frowned, fear and hesitation in her beautiful eyes.

"But then what will you ride?" she asked. Ciara yanked her bow and quiver from the back of Astoldoer.

"I am going to stay behind and buy you some time," she said, her silver eyes blazing like a summer storm.

"No, Ciara, you can't! I just lost Arathorn, do not make me lose you as well!" the lady pleaded. Ciara hated to cause her friend any more pain, but she would not break her vow to Arathorn.

"I will stay with you," Elladan said, but Ciara shook her head.

"The two of you know the safest way to Imladris from here, and one of you will need to carry the child while the other must be free to defend them if I am not able to hold them back," she said. Elladan hesitated for a moment before he nodded, and Ciara thought she detected a glimmer of respect in his grey eyes. She turned to Gilraen.

"I swore an oath to Arathorn that I would do everything I could to protect you and Aragorn. I will do all in my power to stop them and give you a chance to reach Rivendell safely. You must think of the safety of you son. Now come, let me help you mount," Ciara said. Gilraen's eyes filled with tears but she moved toward Astoldoer and allowed Ciara to boost her up into the saddle.

"We will send help if we can," Elladan said. Ciara nodded from beneath her hood, but knew that it was unlikely that anyone would arrive before her fight with the orcs was decided one way or the other. They left in a cloud of dust, and Ciara slapped the rear of Gilraen's horse. He wouldn't be able to keep up with the elven mounts, but she doubted the orcs would pay attention to a rider-less horse. Then she prepared herself for the coming battle.

* * *

X

* * *

When the orcs rounded the final bend in the road five minutes later, they pulled up short at the sight of the lone figure standing on the entrance to the bridge. The hooded woman stood tall and confident, a bow, notched with an arrow, in one hand and a naked blade in the other.

"You will go no further, filth," the figure said in the common tongue, her voice low and rough. The lead orc laughed, noticing the unmistakably elven weapons she carried.

"What is this? An elf standing all alone? What chance do you stand, little elf, against me and my men? We will rip you apart and feast on your innards, before we kill the human child," he said. The figure ignored him and used her blade to carve out a line in the ground before sheathing the blade and carefully stepping over it.

"Hear me now, I have drawn a line in the earth. I swear by all the stars above that I will fight you until I defeat you or no longer draw breath. I invoke the power of the Valar to solidify this oath. Neither I nor you will step one foot past this line so long as I am alive to defend it," she said, her voice thundering with the power of her oath. Behind her, the line shimmered gold, before a transparent gold shield rose from the line until it stood ten feet in the air. Some of the orcs sneered, though others looked about nervously. They did not like the display of elven magic and, though they did not fully understand the words she spoke, they could sense that they were more than a simple boast.

"I will enjoy making you suffer, elf," the lead orc cried, before charging toward her. The others in his company followed suit, not willing to face the punishment of cowardice in battle.

* * *

Ciara had been pleasantly surprised when the ancient Nenanore spell had worked. It had been many years since she had practiced the spell and was not sure if Valar still saw her as worthy to be a vessel for their power. The quiet thrum of power as it flowed through her and into the barrier was exciting and comforting all at once. She quickly drew her bow to its full draw, sighting down the smooth black arrow at the oncoming enemy. She counted seventeen orcs, three of which were mounted on the ghastly looking wargs. She focused her aim on the riders first, knowing that they posed the greatest threat if she was unable to hold her position.

She managed to kill all three of the beasts, two of which crushed their riders beneath them, as well as four other orcs, with her bow before they came too close and she had to toss it aside in favor of her swords. She drew both of the lightweight blades just in time to block a fatal blow from the first orc to reach her. With a snarl, she twisted her blades until she had levered the blade from the enemy's hands and quickly used the shorter blade to cut off his head. She grinned joylessly in satisfaction- at last she had found a safe way to release the fear, grief, and anger within her.

She only had a moment before the rest of the disgusting creatures reached her and their fight became an all-out frenzy. She had chosen her place carefully, using the narrow entrance to the bridge as a way to funnel the enemy and prevent them from circling around her to attack from behind. She was vastly outnumbered, but her people were warriors, and she had been trained by the fiercest of fighters since she was old enough to hold a blade. She had been careful not to allow those skills to fade in the thousand years since the fall of the Nenanore.

With a fierce cry, she knocked down the last of the walls that had been holding back all of the anger and fear that had been building since the death of Arathorn. The image of his body, broken and lifeless, flashed in her mind and she roared in challenge to those before her. Now that Lady Gilraen, Aragorn, and even the elven lords were no longer near her, she was able to unleash the full power of her emotions. Her eyes all but glowed with intensity as she let herself sink deep into the battle lust that her people were once famous for. Every tear that Gilraen had shed for her dead husband, every time that little Aragorn had asked for his father, every thought that she had of kind grey eyes forever closed fueled her, turning her in to a force of death and destruction.

Orc after orc fell beneath her flashing blades, and black blood saturated the ground around her. Every now and then she was pushed back, but she was careful to keep away from the barrier that rose behind her. A Nenanore warrior never crossed a line that they had sworn to defend.

The fight progressed quickly, and in moments it was just her and the leader left standing. The driving force of her anger and grief was nearly spent, and she wanted to sag with fatigue. Her muscles trembled after fighting so many, and her body reminded her that she had gone too long without rest.

But she could not rest yet. Pushing aside her fatigue, she bared her teeth at the large orc before her, twirling her stained blades in an obvious challenge. One more monster to slay and then she could find a place to rest. The orc snarled and charged towards her. They traded furious blows- hers precise and lightning fast, his slower but strengthened by the use of his full weight behind each strike. The clang of metal on metal was deafening as the two fought, neither refusing to back down.

The heavier orc blade came down towards her head and she crossed her two blades, trapping it between them. They wrestled for a moment before the orc managed to twist his blade free from hers and dance back. They paused, both panting hard from exertion.

"I will not let you cross this bridge, orc. You should run while you still can," Ciara growled breathlessly. The lead orc smirked and suddenly she felt intense pain flare in her thigh, causing her to stumble back, closer to the glowing line. She held back a scream and looked down to see a rough looking arrow protruding from her leg. She looked up and noticed an orc archer on the side of the road, further back from where they stood. Another archer stood, arrow ready and aimed at her, on the other side. While her focus had been on the battle before her, she had not noticed two of the orcs fall back from the main fight.

The fire in her thigh spread, until it felt as though her entire leg was burning. Ciara screamed, dropping the longer of her two swords to grip at the arrow. Her vision blurred and the world around her seemed to be leached of color. She knew immediately that the arrow must have been dipped in a powerful poison and tried to rip the arrow from her thigh, but she could no longer feel her body, numb to everything except the burning pain in her leg. The orc standing before her sharpened, and then blurred again. Her strength quickly drained from her body and she vaguely felt her legs give out as she fell to one knee. Were there two orcs standing before her or just one?

"Now, little elf, I will flay the skin from your body while you scream, and then I will go on to find your little friends and make sure that the line of kings is truly ended," he whispered, grinning. With a flick of his hand, he pushed back her hood, exposing her face.

"What is this? A she-elf with darkened skin and white hair? I wonder if you bleed as other elves do. I will enjoy finding out," he said maliciously.

MOVE! Ciara screamed silently to herself. The barrier behind her began to flicker as her own strength faded, it wouldn't hold for much longer. Fury surged through her- she would not allow this filth to make her break her oath, he would not cross the line she had drawn.

"Go roast in the fiery pits of Mount Doom," she growled. Gathering all of the strength she had left, she lifted her remaining blade and attempted to drive it up under his rib cage and into his heart. But her movements were sluggish, slowed down by the poison coursing in her veins, and the monster before her easily blocked the blow, knocking her blade from her hand and sending it skittering away, out of reach. He laughed, causing spittle to fly onto her face.

"Nice try, elf whore. Now you will die," he said, lifting his blade. The edges of her vision darkened, and the ground seemed to roll beneath her. The barrier behind her flickered once more and flared before disappearing completely. She raised her chin and closed her eyes in defeat. She had failed, but she had to hope that she had at least slowed them down enough to allow Gilraen and Aragorn to get to safety.

Suddenly, she thought she heard a shout behind her. Then she heard a whistling sound, followed by a wet thunk. She opened her eyes and thought she saw a smooth, white fletched arrow protruding from the orc before her. She frowned, trying to get her vision to focus enough to confirm what her mind was telling her. She thought to look behind her to see where the arrow had come from, but her vision darkened again and she felt herself falling to the ground.

She heard more whistling sounds, followed by more thunks, but could not see more than blurry blobs of color. Booted feet pounded on the bridge behind her and gentle hands rested carefully on her shoulder and side. Someone rolled her onto her back and she could make out a golden blob above her. She tried to use her hands to pull up her hood, not wanting a stranger to see her face, but she barely managed to move her hands off the ground.

"Be at peace, my dark friend, I mean you no harm. Your friends sent me to aid you, you are safe now," said the golden blob in a deep, rolling voice. Ciara stilled at the sound of elven words. That voice did not belong to either of the twins, though it was somehow familiar to her. She tried to figure out why, but before she could process her thoughts her mind grew dark and she faded into unconsciousness.

* * *

X

* * *

Glorfindel, known as the Balrog slayer, guardian, and most skilled warrior in Imladris, rode among the trees on the outskirts of Imladris. Lord Elrond had had a vision telling him that something had gone wrong in the retrieval of the Dunedain, Arathorn, and his family and had asked him to patrol the area between the Last Bridge and the Ford of Bruinen until Elladan and Elrohir returned.

The peaceful woods were disrupted when three horses came barreling down the East Road as if a balrog was chasing them. Glorfindel guided his faithful horse, Asfaloth, into the center of the road and waived to the riders to get their attention. The riders pulled up to him and halted, revealing Elladan and Elrohir, as well as a human woman and a child. He did not see Arathorn among them. Glorfindel took in the grim looks on the faces of the twins and the stark terror in the eyes of the woman.

"What has happened?" he demanded, "Where is Arathorn?"

"Hail, Glorfindel! You are a sight for sore eyes. Much has happened, and it is a long story, but Arathorn was killed before we even had a chance to leave the Dunedain village. We fled with the Lady Gilraen and his son, Aragorn. We were accompanied by a Nenanore warrior. Apparently, she was close friends with Arathorn and vowed to help us," Elladan said. Glorfindel raised an eye brow in disbelief, he hadn't thought that there were any Nenanore left on Middle Earth.

"A Nenanore? Where is she?" he asked, looking behind their small party. He had once acted as an emissary of Imladris to the Nenanore and, unlike most of the occupants of Imladris, had spent much time among them.

"We nearly made it across the bridge before we were spotted by a group of orcs," the woman, who could be none other than the Lady Gilraen, said tearfully. He looked closer at the mount she rode and realized that it looked like the mounts that the Nenanore had bread for their war horses.

"What happened?" He asked the woman gently.

"Ciara stayed behind to try and buy us time and keep them from crossing the bridge. Please, can you help her? She is a dear friend of mine; I could not bear to lose her!" Lady Gilraen pleaded.

"She would not let us stay with her, as she wanted us to protect Lady Gilraen and her son, but I do not think she can hold them for long by herself," Elladan explained.

"I will go to the bridge and give her my aid if needed. Ride on to the Ford, there should be another patrol waiting for you there- your father had a vision and knew that you were in trouble," he said, turning Asfoloth in the direction that the elf lords had ridden from.

As he drew closer to the bridge, he heard a woman scream and his heart constricted. Worried that he might be too late, he urged Asfoloth to go even faster and broke through the trees that hid the bridge from his sight at a gallop. As he came into view of the bridge he pulled hard on the reins, coming to a full stop so that he could take in the scene before him.

A hooded figure stood before a large orc, clutching her leg with one hand. The air at her back shimmered with a golden light that lit up the rapidly darkening night and Glorfindel had to hold back a gasp as he recognized the spelled barrier. He had only seen one group of elves that was capable of crafting such spells.

The woman who had sworn to protect Arathorn's family was not just a Nenanore warrior- she was a Tinu Naur. The Tinu Naur had served as the Queen's Guard, as escorts for important ambassadors, and had even visited different kingdoms to help train up their own guard. They were blessed by the Valar themselves, allowing them to use their bodies as vessels to channel the power of the Valar into protection spells. There were few that could hope to match the prowess and skill of a Tinu Naur.

The golden light flickered, and he watched in concern as she fell to one knee, a wicked looking arrow protruding from her thigh. All around her was the bodies of dead orcs, and the ground was black with their blood. The orc said something that he could not quite make out before pulling the hood from the woman's head, revealing shining white hair. Glorfindel reached to where his bow hung on his saddle, drawing it quickly.

"Go roast in roast in the fiery pits of Mount Doom," he heard the woman say as she brought her blade up and attempted to stab the orc before her, but the swing was easily blocked and her sword clattered to the ground. The golden light at the entrance to the bridge flared before dying out completely.

"Nice try, elf whore. Now you will die," the orc growled. He raised his own blade and Glorfindel shouted, drawing the orc's attention from the woman before him. Quick as lightening, Glorfindel fired an arrow into the heart of the monster. The orc grunted and stepped back from the force of the blow before toppling backwards like a felled tree. Movement further down the road drew his attention to a pair of orc archers, and he quickly dispatched them both with arrows before they could so much as react to the death of their leader.

By the time his attention was back to the woman, however, she had fallen to the ground and lay unmoving in a puddle of dark orc blood. He dismounted and ran to where she lay. He noted that the boot of her heal rested just shy of a clear line that had been drawn in the sand at the entrance to the bridge. It was unmarred by boot prints, and Glorfindel recalled that if a Nenanore warrior was defending someone or something and they drew a line in the sand with their sword, they would make an unbreakable vow to hold that line until they were victorious or until they were slain in battle.

His eyes strayed to the many corpses that lay before the woman. Aside from the ones that he himself had shot down, he counted fourteen orcs that lay dead on the ground. Not one of them lay anywhere near the line she had drawn. Her strength as a warrior was impressive, and he would bet that she hadn't been forced so close to the line until after she had been shot with the arrow.

Careful not to jostle any potential wounds, he slowly rolled her onto her back so that he could assess her. He did not see any wounds aside from the arrow in her thigh. Her clothes were rough and tattered, clearly having been worn through many travels. Her silver eyes were open, though they were glazed over and he wasn't sure that she even saw him at all.

Her skin was indeed the dark grey of the Nenanore elves, and he stared in wonder at the swirling white marks on her forehead and cheekbones that confirmed her status as a Tinu Naur. Her gaze focused somewhat and she made a small sound of distress, her hands struggling to lift off the ground.

"Be at peace, my dark friend, I mean you no harm. Your friends sent me to aid you, you are safe now," he said in Sindarin. The woman froze, as if trying to decide if he was friend or foe, before her eyes closed and her body went limp.

Glorfindel cursed as the woman fell unconscious. He checked her once more for wounds, but saw only the arrow wound. For it to so grievously affect her, the arrow must have a strong poison coated on it. He whistled sharply for Asfoloth, who came to him immediately, and reached for the small healing bag that hung from the saddle. He didn't have the skills needed to stop the poison, but he could at least remove the arrow and try to stabilize her to some extent.

He dumped out the contents of the bag and sorted through it until he found the specialized spoon used to remove barbed arrows from the body with minimal damage. He also folded a piece of clean linen that he could use to staunch the flow of blood once the arrow was removed. Turning back to the Tinu Naur, he placed his left hand on her thigh, just above the arrow, and used his right hand to position the arrow spoon. He looked at her still face and sighed.

"Sorry, my Lady, but this is not going to feel good," he said, before quickly inserting the spoon around the arrow. Once it was correctly positioned, he pulled both it and the arrow up and out in a single movement. Dropping the tool and the arrow, he quickly grabbed the linen and pressed it hard against the wound, which was now bleeding freely. With practiced movements, he carefully used linen strips to bind the wound tightly and hold the original piece of linen in place. Throughout the ordeal, the woman did not move even once, which concerned him.

"We need to get you to Lord Elrond," he mumbled. He packed up the healing bag and quickly cleaned his now bloody hands in the river before mounting Asfoloth with her sitting in the saddle before him. He would send a patrol back to the bridge to clean up the filth and retrieve the warrior's weapons, but for now his focus was on keeping her alive. With one last look at the carnage that the single woman had wrought, he turned towards Imladris and prayed that he arrived in time for Elrond to save what may be the last Nenanore on Middle Earth.

* * *

Lord Elrond Looked up as Glorfindel quietly entered the healing room that the Tinu Naur had been placed in. Although he had removed his outer armor, he had not yet taken the time to wash. His clothes, well made though they were, were wrinkled and stained and dirt streaked his handsome face. Elladan and Elrohir trailed in after him, curious to learn more about the woman they had traveled with. Elrohir was surprised, and alarmed, to note that her skin was now the color of cooling ash, rather than the dark tones that he had glimpsed during their travels.

He felt torn about the woman before them. He could think of no reason as to why she would stay behind in Arda and keep her presence hidden if she had not been one of the Nenanore to betray her people, yet her actions at the bridge had shown both courage and a willingness to sacrifice herself for the sake of her friends. Somehow, he doubted that one who could betray their own kin would act in such a way.

"How fares the Tinu Naur?" Glorfindel asked. Elrohir jerked at the title used by Glorfindel. Did he mean to imply that the woman before them was a Tinu Naur? If so, The Valar themselves had accepted her and blessed her, welcoming her into the esteemed ranks of the greatest warriors Arda had ever seen. It would also mean that his suspicions of her were uncalled for. His father sighed, leaning back and placing the wet cloth he was holding back into the bowl of water that sat beside the bed.

"She's stabilized, for now at least. I have not seen this poison before, and it worries me. That it can have such an immediate and severe effect on even an elf is deeply troubling. Only time will tell now if the herbs and medicines I used are enough to break her fever and allow her to pull out of the coma she is currently in," he said heavily. Elrohir looked back down at the still woman and sighed. If all of the arrows those orcs possessed had had the same poison on them, it would have taken very little time for him and his brother to fall to the same fate as the Nenanore, and Aragorn and his mother never would have made it to Imladris. They owed her their lives.

"Do you mean to tell us that this woman is a Tinu Naur, blessed by the Valar?" Elladan asked, awe clear in his voice. Glorfindel nodded and sat in one of the chairs along the bedside.

"I am surprised that she did not mention it to you. If the magic I saw her perform was not enough to convince me, the tattoos on her face were enough to confirm it. Of the Nenanore, only the Tinu Naur received white facial tattoos, and only after they had received the blessings of the Valar and completed their trainings. It is strange, I feel as if I know her, but I cannot seem to recall why," Glorfindel said, a puzzled look on his face as he studied the woman. Elrohir felt like the lowest of creatures as he recalled his previous actions towards her. Why had she not told them that she was a Tinu Naur?

"She said her name was Ciara," Elrohir said quietly. Glorfindel jerked and turned in his seat to look at him.

"What did you say?" he asked, disbelief in his voice. Elrond raised an eyebrow but said nothing.

"She told us her name was Ciara, once we figured out that she was a Nenanore," Elrohir repeated. Glorfindel spun back around to the figure in the bed. He leaned over her and gently moved her hair back behind her ears- until this moment he hadn't even noticed that they had been cleverly concealed underneath the white strands.

He heard Elrond inhale sharply at what he uncovered, and he himself was stunned into silence. Delicate wires of Mithril glinted along the tops of both of her delicately pointed ears in a beautiful moon and star motif. The twins crowded around the bed so that they too could get a look at what the held the two older elves in such rapt attention.

"It's pretty jewelry, but what does it mean?" Elladan asked curiously.

"They are the mark of members of the royal family. Lady Ciara Winterstar was one of the nieces of the Queen of the Nenanore people- she is a member of their royal family. No wonder I hadn't recognized her. The last time I saw her, she was still a child, not even fully grown yet," Glorfindel said softly, almost as if he was speaking to himself.

"If I remember correctly, the Queen had only one daughter and one sister who was married and had three children. Unless another royal family member survived the slaughter or stayed behind after the Nenanore sailed on to the undying lands, Lady Ciara would effectively be the ruling Queen of the Nenanore. That is, if there are any others left in Arda," Elrond said speculatively.


	5. First Day in Imladris

**Ciara is now in Imladris, how will she react to being in civilization once more? Updated with some new information towards the end**

* * *

**CHAPTER 4**

Ciara felt herself gently rising from consciousness and slowly became aware that she was laying down in a warm bed covered with luxuriously soft sheets. She frowned, that wasn't right. She hadn't slept in a warm bed since… well she couldn't quite remember the last time she had had a warm bed to sleep upon. Where was she? Why was she here?

Suddenly she remembered- Arathorn's death, their desperate flight to the safety of Imladris, the fight with the orcs at the bridge, and then… then the burning pain of a poisoned arrow, the numbness of her body. After that, she remembered nothing.

She flexed her fingers experimentally and though she was glad that the movement brought no pain, she was alarmed to realize that her gloves were missing. The soft rustle of fabric caused her to freeze, anxiety coursing through her. She was not alone, and at least some of her dark skin was exposed for any who cared to look.

"Be at peace, my Lady, you are safe here. Will you open your eyes for me?" a soft strange voice asked her. Trying not to panic, Ciara struggled to open her eyes. At first, her vision was filled only with a blurry, bright light but the light slowly morphed into individual shapes and colors.

Warm wood covered the ceiling above her, and soft light seeped in from somewhere to her right, a window maybe. The headboard of the bed rose above her and she saw that it was carved with incredibly intricate depictions of leaves and green, growing things. Her gaze slowly moved down and she took in the cream colored blankets of her bed and a small room, barren of personal effects, but clean and tidy.

Gathering her courage and her strength, she turned her head toward the right, where the voice had originated from. There she found a tall, stately looking elf sitting between her and the window. His long brown hair was intricately tied back from his face, allowing her to see finely sculpted cheek bones and perfectly shaped eyebrows that reminded her vaguely of Elladan and Elrohir. His eyes were a soft grey and she saw concern written in their depths.

Suddenly she realized that this strange elf was looking at her face, her unexposed face. With a gasp, she jolted into a sitting position, hand automatically going to her back for a sword that wasn't there. Her vision swam as dizziness assaulted her and she swayed. She felt gentle hands grasp her shoulders and carefully push her back down into the pillows.

"Do not trouble yourself, Lady Ciara. You are safe in Imladris. No harm will come to you while you rest in my halls," the elf said. Ciara frowned.

"How do you know my name? Why do you call me a lady? What happened?" she asked, wincing at how dry her throat was. The elf stood and turned to something behind him. When he turned back around, he held a small wooden cup and brought it to her.

"Drink, slowly, and I will answer your questions," he said, allowing her to take the cup in her own hands. She was annoyed to see that they visibly shook. She took a slow sip of the cool liquid, sighing in relief as the lightly flavored water slid down her parched throat. Elrond sat back down and waited for her to take another sip before he spoke.

"You were poisoned by an arrow from an orc at the Last Bridge. Your traveling companions came across Lord Glorfindel, who was patrolling the woods outside our borders. He was able to remove the arrow and bring you back to Imladris, but it was almost too late. Whatever poison they used on that arrow was deadly to elves, and you have been in a fevered sleep for three days," he explained.

"Three days?" She croaked. The elf nodded and she fought to keep her breathing even at the terrifying thought that she had been unconscious and vulnerable around complete strangers for three days.

"Elladan and Elrohir told us that you called yourself Ciara. Glorfindel recognized your name from the time he spent as an emissary with the Nenanore. You are Lady Ciara of the Winterstar family, are you not?" The elf asked, the slightest hint of curiosity in his voice. Ciara felt the faint stirrings of panic in her chest as she realized that this elf knew her name, her true name. Would he cast her out? Lock her in the dungeons?

"I have not used that name in many, many years," she said quietly, pushing aside the painful memories that the use of her full name conjured in her mind and preparing to defend herself should the need arise. She stared at his face, trying to gauge his reaction to her admission but saw only a hint of recognition and the same spark of curiosity that she had heard in his voice.

"You aren't going to kick me out, or lock me in your dungeons?" she finally asked. The elf looked concerned and slightly offended.

"Now why would I do that, my lady?" He asked with a raised brow.

He doesn't know! She realized, relief soaking through her. She had been shunned by her own people, banished from the small group of Nenanore that still remained in Arda, all because her brother had been the leader of the elves that had betrayed them. She had spent the last thousand years avoiding other elves out of fear that they would cast her out, or worse, because of her connections to The Traitor, and all this time, the rest of the elves did not know who The Traitor was.

She had known that the humans, even the Dunedain, were ignorant as to who had been the one to destroy the Nenanore, but both their lives and their memories were far shorter than that of the elves. How did the elves not know who had betrayed their kin? Regardless of the reason, Ciara found herself hesitant to reveal that particular truth to them, especially given that she was currently at their mercy.

"Because I am a Nenanore," she lied. The elf shook his head.

"You are in Imladris now, the last homely house in Arda. All are welcome here, even those who have been in hiding for many years," he said, his grey eyed stare piercing and solemn. Suddenly, she yawned, what little energy she had left dissipating. The elf stood and gently took the cup from her hands.

"Rest now, my lady. You must rebuild your strength," he said, turning to leave the room. Ciara struggled against the exhaustion as she tried to keep her heavy eyelids open.

"You did not tell me your name," she said, her words slurring slightly.

"I am Elrond, Lord of Imladris," he said before shutting the door quietly behind him. She had a moment to ponder why the lord of the realm would be sitting at her bedside before exhaustion won out and she slid back into the darkness.

* * *

"How is Lady Ciara?" Glorfindel asked as he walked down the hall towards Elrond. They had all been holding their breath, waiting to see if the lady would pull through or succumb to the poison.

"Her fever appears to have broken, and she was able to speak with me for a few short moments before she fell back into unconsciousness. The wound appears to be healing nicely and I do believe she will survive with no lasting effects," Lord Elrond said. Glorfindel felt the tension in his shoulders ease as he processed the good news.

"That a Nenanore, a Tinu Naur no less, still walks Arda must be a gift from the Valar themselves," Glorfindel said. Elrond nodded gracefully.

"Indeed. I believe we will have great need of her skills in the dark times to come," Elrond replied.

* * *

Ciara held herself perfectly still with her eyes closed and her breathing even as she took stock of her surroundings. She was still lying in a bed that almost seemed too soft to be comfortable after so many years of lying on the hard ground. The soft, even breathing of someone nearby told her that she was not alone and the chirping of birds outside told her that it was most likely early morning. She waited a few moments more to see if the other person in the room was moving around, but heard nothing aside from their breathing.

Slowly, she opened her eyes and waited for her vision to focus. She was still in the same room as the last time she had awoken, only this time, instead of Lord Elrond watching her every move, Lady Gilraen lay curled up in the chair beside her bed, sleeping lightly. The poor woman looked ragged and exhausted, with dark shadows under her eyes. The dress she now wore was clearly of elven make, though it was wrinkled and had clearly been worn several days in a row. She glanced around the room to make sure that no one else was present and noticed her two swords, cleaned and neatly stored away in their sheaths, leaning up against the wall. She was amused to note that the various knives that she kept strapped to her body, both hidden and in the open, were in a pile next to the swords, as if whoever had left them there was unsure of the best way to arrange so many weapons.

Careful not to wake her sleeping friend, Ciara quietly pushed herself into a sitting position and inspected her own body. She too was dressed in elven garb, covered in a beautiful, white nightdress that did little to cover her exposed arms or face. She did not like being so exposed, where anyone who walked in the door could see the skin that marked her for what she was.

Thinking of the arrow that had rendered her helpless on the field of battle, she pushed back the blankets to look at her thigh. The nightdress she was wearing had been slit up the side, presumably to provide easy access to her wound. The fleshy part of her thigh was wrapped tightly in clean, white bandages, and though she could feel the wound pull slightly at her movements, it was nothing compared to the all-consuming pain that had burned through her when she first received the wound.

The door to her room started to open and she quickly pulled the blankets back across her legs to shield herself. Looking up, she saw a tall, blond elf. His face was lean and chiseled and his hair was a stunning golden color that looked as if it had been created from the very light of the sun. Despite his youthful beauty, his eyes were solemn and ancient, and she could tell that he had seen much pain throughout his lifetime.

"Ah, Lady Winterstar, you are awake at last," the elf said as he approached, keeping his voice low so as to not awaken the sleeping Gilraen. Ciara winced at the formal title and the use of a name that she had not heard spoken aloud in nearly 1000 years. The voice was at once familiar and unknown to her, though she vaguely recalled the same voice speaking to her just before she lost consciousness on the bridge.

"I am no longer the Lady Winterstar- she died the day my people fell. Please, just call me Ciara. And who are you? You are the one who saved me, are you not?" She asked bluntly, though she kept her voice equally soft. The golden-haired elf nodded regally.

"My apologies, my lady, I meant no offense. I am Glorfindel of Imladris," he said, bowing softly in introduction. Ciara felt her eyes widen slightly. She remembered hearing tales of Lord Glorfindel, the mighty elf warrior who fought and killed a balrog. He himself had succumbed to his injuries, but had been given a second chance at life by the Valar in recognition for his great deeds. The ancient and somewhat haunted look at his eyes made sense now. Vaguely, she recalled meeting the elf once, when she was still a child and he had visited her city, Amon Lanc, as an emissary of Imladris.

"How long have I been out this time?" she asked. Immediately she realized that her questions were quite rude, considering that this elf had saved her life. She should show more respect, but she was out of practice when it came to social niceties. Fortunately, however, the mighty warrior did not appear to be offended.

"You were in a fevered sleep for three days. Your fever broke yesterday afternoon, and you were awake for a short time before sleeping through the night. The Lady Gilraen has hardly left your side except to care for her son. She was very worried about you, we all were. We weren't sure if you were going to make it," Lord Glorfindel replied.

Unsure of how to respond, Ciara nodded. She was spared from having to further converse with Lord Glorfindel by the sound of Gilraen stirring beside her. She turned to see the woman groan and rub her eyes before blinking blearily at her. Upon seeing Ciara awake and sitting up, she blinked.

"Oh, you're awake!" she said, relief and joy erasing the exhaustion shadowing her beautiful eyes. She leaned over and grasped Ciara's hand tightly in her own. Ciara had to hold back a flinch at the unexpected contact.

"I was so worried about you. You came in here looking like death warmed over and not even Lord Elrond was sure he could save you! Don't you ever scare me like that again, you hear me? No more sacrificing yourself for the good of others, I don't know what I would do without you!" Gilraen scolded gently. Ciara felt unexpected tears spring to her eyes at the tender affection in her voice and the very mother-like rebuke.

"I did not mean to cause you worry, dear friend. But I promised Arathorn I would keep you and Aragorn safe, and I would risk my life a thousand times in order to keep that promise," she said gruffly. Gilraen sniffled, her own eyes watery.

"Arathorn would want you to keep yourself alive as well, don't forget that. Anyways, we are here now, in the safety of Imladris, so there is no more need for you to do any more heroic and dangerous acts," Gilraen said stubbornly. Ciara simply patted the woman's hand, knowing that she could never promise not to jump into danger to protect others, it was what she had sworn to do the moment she became a Tinu Naur.

"Where is Aragorn? Is he alright?" she asked, knowing that it would distract her friend from her lecturing. Gilraen smiled tiredly, no doubt noticing the attempt to change the subject, but she let it drop for now.

"He is sleeping now in the rooms that I was given upon arrival. He hasn't slept well; he is quite fussy and keeps asking for Arathorn. Hopefully he will be able to move past the trauma he has been through soon," she said softly, and Ciara could hear the thread of weariness and grief in her voice. Ciara squeezed her hand.

"He is still young, my lady. From what I hear, children recover from such things far easier than adults. In no time he will have gotten over what happened and be back to running around, his giggles lighting up our halls," Glorfindel said quietly. Gilraen jumped, having only just realized that they were not alone in the small healing room.

"Thank you Lord Glorfindel. Your assurance is most comforting. He is so young, he will recover quickly, I am sure, but I believe he will also lose all memory of his father as well," she said, her voice breaking. Ciara stared at her, waiting until Gilraen's gaze met her own.

"We will just have to teach him about his father. We will keep Arathorn alive in our hearts and our memories. Aragorn will know his father through our stories," Ciara said, her voice barely more than a whisper, but strong and confident none the less. Gilraen sniffled again.

"Will you stay here with us? Please? I know that being around others is difficult for you, and I have no right to ask this, but would you stay in Imladris with us? I can't bear the thought of you leaving me too," Gilraen said. Ciara stared deeply into her eyes and saw the desperation, fear, and grief that the strong woman tried so hard to hide. In that moment, she would have agreed to anything that Gilraen had asked her- anything but this. The thought of staying in a city, an elven city no less, where she would be surrounded by stone walls and people, sent anxiety coursing through her. Yet she could not deny Gilraen completely.

"I cannot promise that I will stay forever, but I will stay with you for now," she replied.

* * *

**A little shorter than the other chapters, but this just felt like a good stopping point. Working on Chapter 5 now, hope to have it finished soon**


	6. Learning to Adjust

**Hello there! Alright, Chapter Five is done. Turned out a little more moody and sad than I had originally inteneded, but this seemed like a good place to spill some of the beans with regards to Ciara's past and why she wandered alone for so long. Hopefully it flows well and isn't to depressing. I promise, it will get more lighthearted and fun in the next chapter!**

**My job is about to get very busy for the next few months, but I will do my best to keep writing (I work for a nonprofit and it is our big fundraising season, so I will be spending most of my weeknights and some of my weekends asking for money- yay...). Let me know what you think.**

**Aya, hopefully this will start to answer some of your questions :)**

* * *

**CHAPTER 5**

Ciara sighed in relief at the sight of the empty training field. She had been coming to this place every morning, purposefully arriving early enough so that she had the place to herself. Her wound had healed quickly over the past month, though she would have a lasting scar for the rest of her existence. Elrond had generously opened up his home to her, providing her with a set of rooms and fresh clothes, though she spent very little time in those rooms.

Although she appreciated the unexpected kindness and hospitality that Lord Elrond had bestowed upon her, she was eager to spend some time alone. Most of the elves in Imladris regarded her with mild curiosity and were happy to trust in their Lord's acceptance of her- though she didn't miss the occasional glares she received from those that thought their Lord was too trusting of her, or the frightened looks that were made when her back was turned.

It was a very different reception from the one that she had thought she would receive. How they had not learned that her brother, Morchanar, was the traitor was beyond her. Her own people had cast her and her twin sister out, leaving them vulnerable and alone, but the elves of Imladris had allowed her into their home with few questions. She was not there when the elves of the Greenwood and Imladris fought against the strange foes that had destroyed Amon Lanc and its people, but Morchanar must have found some way to conceal who he was.

Despite their tentative welcome, over a thousand years of wandering and isolation had left her ill prepared to deal with life in the elven city and she often found herself anxious, overstimulated, and on edge.

She wanted to leave, had almost done so several times, but thoughts of Gilraen prevented her from doing so. She knew that her friend was struggling to deal with the loss of her husband while also raising her young son, and that she found comfort at the presence of a friend among so many strangers. Ciara owed Arathorn more than she could ever repay, so for now she would remain in Imladris and do what she could to ease Gilraen's burden.

She had not slept in a bed since Lord Elrond had released her from his care, finding it too soft after years of going without. Instead, she had taken to nestling down in trees in various gardens or the woods outside the city each night, escaping from the claustrophobia caused by being indoors for too long and enjoying the comforting scent of green, growing things. This had helped her cope somewhat, but she only felt truly relaxed when she held her blades in her hands.

Taking one last look to make sure that no one else lingered in the training area, Ciara unsheathed her weapons and began to put herself through some of the practice positions she had learned so many years ago. Starting out slowly, she let her body warm up before steadily increasing the pace.

Lunge, block, swipe, block, spin, repeat. Over and over, she worked herself through each position as she felt the anxiety and tension leave her body. She lost herself in the movement, reveling the at the feeling of the slight strain in her muscles and ignoring the dull ache that lingered in her right thigh from the arrow wound.

A quiet cough interrupted her deep focus and alerted her to the company of another. She spun, habit causing her to raise her blades in defense in case they were an enemy. Lord Glorfindel stood before her, wearing light leather armor over a fine white tunic and loose green leggings. Seeing that he was not a threat, she slowly lowered her blade and nodded her head.

"My Lord Glorfindel," she said warily. The blond warrior returned her gesture and smiled.

"Please, if I must call you Ciara, I insist that you simply call me Glorfindel. I was wondering if I might spar with you, my lady. I have had the pleasure of spending much time among your people, and it would be an honor to have the chance to spar with a Tinu Naur once again," Glorfindel said, keeping his distance so as not to crowd or frighten her. She hesitated a moment before nodding once and stepping further back so that he could join her on the field.

"I would welcome the chance to sharpen my skills against those of a warrior as well-known as you," she said. Glorfindel kept his grin to himself as he walked on to the field.

He had been keeping a close eye on her since finding her on that bridge, feeling somewhat responsible for her given that he had been the one to bring her into Imladris. Watching her struggle to adjust to life in Imladris over the last month had cultivated a sense of protectiveness within him, and he had decided to do what he could to help her feel more at home. He hadn't been sure that she would be willing to engage with him, but watching her practice each morning made him itch to see if she was as talented as the Tinu Naur he had once known.

He drew his blade and the two warriors circled each other for a moment before he darted forward and sliced his sword down to her head in a graceful, yet deadly, motion. She crossed her two blades, catching his sword between them and diverting the force of the blow to the side. Then she whirled, using the motion to bring her body in closer to his and making his longer weapon more difficult to use. She swung the shorter of her two blades in a lightning fast move towards his throat, forcing him to duck. He stuck out a foot, catching her in the knee and propelled himself off her, trying to get her off balance while simultaneously launching himself in a graceful leap backwards. She recovered quickly and came at him again, bringing her longer blade up from the side to slash at his midsection. This time, however, he was far enough away and was able to easily bring up his own blade to block the blow.

As they continued to spar and they each became more confident in both the skill and the rhythm of the other, their attacks increased in speed and ferocity. Soon, the weapons were little more than silver streaks of light whirling through the air, clashing in a shower of sparks before coming apart once more. Neither noticed when a small crowd began to gather at the edge of the practice field, drawn in by the sounds of sparring.

For a while, they almost appeared to be evenly matched, and neither opponent gave any ground. Suddenly, Glorfindel thought he saw an opening in her attack and launched his blade towards her apparently unguarded right side. Too late, he realized that it was a trap. While he had been focused on the opening at her side, she had maneuvered her weapons so that they came down across the base of his sword, just above the hilt, in an x. With a move that was too fast for him to track, Glorfindel felt his sword twist out of his grasp. A second later, the naked point of Ciara's shorter blade was pressed against his neck.

"I yield. Well fought, my lady. It has been many years since I have been disarmed in the practice ring!" He said, surprised to note that he sounded slightly winded. Lady Ciara, on the other hand, looked as fresh and collected as she had before their match had started. He had a sneaking suspicion that she had been holding back and had gone easy on him. She pulled back the sharp-edged weapon and bowed slightly to him, saying without words that she viewed him as a worthy opponent.

"By the Valar! I don't believe I have ever seen the Great Glorfindel defeated in one on one combat!" A voice, Elladan's if he wasn't mistaken, sounded behind them. Glorfindel looked up in surprise to see about fifteen elves avidly watching their exchange, Elladan and Elrohir among them. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Ciara reach up to touch the edge of her hood, as if making sure that it was still in place. It seemed to be a nervous habit that she had developed during her time in Imladris. Though she tried to hide it, it had become clear to him that she did not like being around so many people. He would guess that she liked being at the center of their attention even less.

"You must be very talented to have defeated Lord Glorfindel, my lady," Elrohir said, and Glorfindel could hear the hint of admiration in his voice. Though Glorfindel would have liked nothing more than to pummel the young lord for the disrespect he had shown to the Lady Ciara on their travels, he knew that Elrohir had seen the error of his actions and was attempting to make amends. The lady in question bowed slightly.

"Excuse me," she said, before turning and walking quickly across the field to disappear into the trees on the other side. Elrohir looked crestfallen at her abrupt departure, and the group of onlookers began to dissipate now that the show was over.

"I do not believe it is you she runs from, Elrohir. I believe it is more likely that she seeks to escape from the crowd that gathered to watch. You must remember that she has spent many years either alone or in the company of only a few. It will take her time to adjust to being around people once more," Glorfindel said, patting the younger elf on the back before retrieving his sword and heading off towards the kitchens.

* * *

Ciara tried not to look like she was running away as she walked swiftly towards the trees at the far end of the practice field, the side opposite of the crowd that had gathered to watch her spar with Glorfindel. She slowed her pace as she entered the shadowed sanctuary of the forest and her fast, panicked breathing slowed to a more normal speed as she inhaled the scent of the forest around her.

She had been surprised to find that she actually enjoyed sparring with Glorfindel. He was content to simply let her be on her own terms, and did not try to sneak peeks under her hood, as many of the other elves had. Rather than alarming and threatening, she found comfort and strength in his quiet presence. Crossing blades with him had been a nice change from the solitary practice she had been doing, it felt good to feel her swords clash against another- not in defense or attack, but in fun and practice.

She had been careful not to unleash her full might against him. As unused to sparring with a partner as she was, she was afraid that if she did not hold back, she would lose herself to the fight and fail to remember that he was not an enemy. Even so, practicing with him would certainly help her keep her skills sharp.

She had not felt cornered until the match ended and she became aware of the group of onlookers. Her subconscious had registered that people were near, but she did not feel the full weight of their scrutiny until after Glorfindel had yielded. Then she had felt the eyes of every elf present on her, making her feel exposed despite the hood still covering her face.

It had taken everything she had not to bolt the moment the fight ended, and she knew that she had been rude to Elrohir by not responding to his compliment. As she walked, her emotions calmed and the panic faded away, morphing into embarrassment and frustration with herself.

Although she had never been all that fond of large gatherings in the past, she had never been _afraid_ of people before her isolation. She hated her own weakness, wishing she could go back to being the girl she was before the Betrayal, before everything had gone wrong.

Sighing, she wove through the trees, circling around the training field to make her way to where she knew Gilraen would be having breakfast in the gardens with Aragorn. It had become their tradition to have breakfast together, just the three of them under the warm light of the sun before getting started with the rest of their day. She kept to the trees until she was nearly to the garden and had to leap up onto the top of a wall that surrounded this part of the city. Nimbly, she walked along the top of the wall, unconcerned by the drop on either side.

She was almost to the garden where she would meet Gilraen when she heard the tinkling laughter of two elf maidens just to her left. She ignored it until she heard one of them say something about Nenanore. Pausing, she crept to the edge of the wall and looked down into a little alcove where two elven ladies sat on a bench, enjoying the warm rays of the autumn sun. They were beautiful, with porcelain pale skin and silky long brown hair that fell in perfect waves and curls down their backs. Their dresses were perfectly draped and were made of rich red and blue brocade that complimented their pale complexions.

"Can you believe Lord Elrond is allowing that Nenanore woman to stay in Imladris? I was surprised she was even allowed within our borders, given the history of her people," the first elf said. Ciara felt anger rise within her, they knew nothing of her people's suffering, safe and secure as they were within Imladris.

"She is so strange. She has been here for over a month, and yet no one has seen her face under that ragged hood she always wears. Its not natural."

"I know! I have never seen a Nenanore before, except from far away when one would come to Imladris on occasion, and I keep hoping to catch a glimpse of what she looks like. I hear they have hideous grey skin and pale eyes that glow. I wonder if that's true."

Ciara felt shame flood through her, and she reached up to make sure that the hood in question was firmly pulled forward over her face. She turned away, continuing on towards where Gilraen would be waiting, telling herself that the opinion of such petty elves did not matter and ignoring the sting that their words caused in her heart.

* * *

Gilraen looked up from watching Aragorn play in the empty flower bed as Ciara dropped down from the wall above them to land silently beside her. She had been very excited to hear that Ciara had been seen sparring with Lord Glorfindel in the practice area. To Gilraen's knowledge, this was the first time that Ciara had truly interacted with someone outside of herself and Aragorn, and the thought of Ciara finding another friend in Imladris warmed her heart.

"I hear you have been busy today, my friend," she said, grinning. Ciara said nothing. Gilraen frowned, noticing the slight slump in her friend's shoulders, and the way she did not remove her hood, as she usually did when joining them for breakfast.

"What is wrong, mellon-nin?" she asked softly, concern filling her voice. Ciara sighed and pushed back her hood, letting Gilraen see her face and the emotions that were so easy to read on her elven features. Frustration and shame glinted in her silver eyes.

"What happened? Glorfindel told me that he enjoyed practicing with you, and that you seemed to enjoy it as well, but you seem upset," she said. There was silence for a long moment and Gilraen remained quiet, letting Ciara gather her thoughts.

"I am frustrated with myself. Once I was strong, and fearless. I did not enjoy going to large parties, but I was never afraid of being around others. Now, even a small group of elves is enough to send me running for the trees with my tail between my legs," she said quietly, her fist clenched in agitation. Gilraen slowly placed her hand over the closed fist, careful not to startle her.

"Oh, mellon-nin, you must not be so hard on yourself. Healing takes time, it does not happen overnight. You have spent so many years on your own, it will take time and patience to adjust to being around other people. Even after you met Arathorn," she said, stopping as her throat squeezed tight at the mention of her husband. She cleared it and continued, "even after you met Arathorn, you still spent much time by yourself. You rarely wandered into our small village, and when you did, you did not stay long. Now you find yourself in a city, surrounded by other people. The fact that you have not left us, despite your discomfort, shows great strength of character."

Ciara looked up at her, a spark of hope in her eyes.

"You don't think less of me for my weakness?" she asked quietly, her voice barely audible to Gilraen's human ears.

"Of course not, I admire the strength that it takes for you to face your fears and not run away from them," Gilraen assured her, hoping that Ciara could hear the sincerity in her voice. Ciara gave her the smallest hint of a smile and Gilraen was happy to see her shoulders straiten a little. They were quiet for several long moments, content to watch Aragorn tramp around in the dirt, absorbed in a world all his own, while they picked at the food she had gathered for breakfast. Finally, Gilraen got up the courage to ask a question that had been bothering her since they had arrived in Imladris.

"Ciara, why didn't you tell us that you were a Tinu Naur and a member of the royal family of the Nenanore?" she asked, unable to completely hide the hurt in her voice. Ciara had never talked much about her past, changing the subject whenever it came up, and Gilraen had been stunned to learn that her wandering friend was a royal elf and a high-ranking warrior. There was a long pause, and Gilraen was just beginning to think that Ciara would not answer when she looked away and began to speak.

"When I met Arathorn and Halbarad, it had been almost a thousand years since the last time anyone had referred to me as such. I stopped being a lady of the royal house of the Nenanore on the day my people fell. In truth, I did not even think to mention it, as I no longer thought of myself as such."

"And the part about being a warrior blessed by the Valar?" Gilraen asked, a little stunned at the reminder of just how long Ciara had wandered this earth, and she was still considered young!

"When I was accepted by the Valar and became a Tinu Naur, I was overjoyed. I had worked my whole life to get to that point. While many of the Tinu Naur lived throughout Arda as guardians, much as the Rangers do now (though the Tinu Naur were far less secretive and mysterious about it), I was a part of the Queen's Guard and lived in the barracks at Amon Lanc. I swore the oath that we all swore- first to protect Arda from darkness above all else, and second to defend my queen and people. I broke that oath.

When we were attacked, I watched as the queen was slain, but could not get to her in time. We barely got the young princess out of Amon Lanc and to the ships waiting to sail to the undying lands, but we had failed to defend our queen. I was sent as a messenger to warn our neighbors of the Betrayal of one of our own before heading to the Grey Havens. I missed the boats, but my sister stayed behind to wait for me."

"You had a sister?"

"Yes, a twin. Her name was Gaeliel. Where I was a warrior at heart, she was a scholar and artist. She knew all of the lore and history of the peoples of Arda, and loved exploring the deep caverns of the library. She was sweet and kind and wonderful. I failed her too. Those of our people who remained in Arda cast us out, leaving us to fend for ourselves. Gaeliel had lost even more than I, for she had had a young lover that was slain in the attack. The isolation and wandering took a far greater toll on her than it did me, and she eventually faded. Perhaps if we had come to Imladris, she may have found the strength to continue on, or perhaps Lord Elrond would have found a way to get her on a ship to the Undying Lands, but we had not known that we would find welcome here."

Gilraen stared at her friend, grieving for all of the losses that she had suffered through on her own. Her voice was flat and emotionless, but that only served as a clear indication of the immense pain that such events had caused her. She knew she shouldn't press, but she could not help but ask, "why did your people not take you and your sister in?"

Ciara looked at her, as if gauging whether or not to continue speaking. Finally, Gilraen saw resignation in her eyes before she bowed her head.

"I fear that you will think differently of me, once you know this, but you have a right to know. The Betrayer, the one who handed over my people to the enemy, was my older brother. He too had wanted to become a Tinu Naur, but the Valar rejected him. They did not believe he was pure of heart and feared what could happen if he used their power for ill. He was bitter, and turned against our people," Ciara said, stiffening as if expecting Gilraen to hit her or run away screaming. Gilraen wanted to cry, no one deserved to have to survive that kind of pain. She threw her arms around Ciara, noticing her flinch and the shocked expression at the unexpected kindness.

"You are not alone any longer, Ciara. What your brother did was terrible, but you are not to blame for his actions. You did not fail your oath, for I have every belief that you did everything you could to save your queen and family," she said through the tears leaking down her face. She felt Ciara relax and return the hug.

"Thank you, my friend, for trusting me with your secret," Gilraen said softly, her voice rough with emotion.

* * *

"Kee sad?"

Ciara looked down at the little cherub that had wandered over to them from the empty flower bed. His face was turned up towards her, solemn concern shone in his grey eyes as he placed his dirt covered hand gingerly on her thigh. She couldn't help but give the child a watery smile.

"I am fine, little sprout. Are you enjoying the sunshine?" she asked. Aragorn smiled and patted her thigh, babbling nonsense as he wandered back to the dirt that he had been playing in. Suddenly, she felt a presence behind her and look back at the entrance to the garden.

There stood Glorfindel, standing in the entrance with a plate of food. Judging by the shocked look on his face, he had heard every word that she had said to Gilraen. She stood and backed away, edging closer to the wall that she had entered from. Gilraen looked up, startled by her actions, and froze when she noticed the silent elf in the archway.

"Oh dear," she said, looking from one warrior to the other.

* * *

"Please, do not leave, I mean you no harm. Your secret is safe with me," Glorfindel said, slowly raising the hand that was not holding food in a universal gesture of peace. He had been coming to see if she would like to go on patrol with him after her breakfast with Gilraen when he heard her speaking of her past.

He kept his face neutral, but inside he was seething. _How dare they throw her out, judge her because of the actions of another?_ He thought angrily. He had not known Ciara long, but even he could see that she was nothing like the brother she spoke of. He thought back in the vaults of his memory and tried to recall the brother.

An image of a tall, muscular elf with dark grey skin, ash grey hair, and pale blue eyes came to mind. He remembered Morchanar being bitter, overconfident, hot tempered, and selfish. About a thousand years older than Ciara and her twin sister, he had also gone through the trials to become a Tinu Naur, only to be denied by the Valar. Most elves, her remembered, failed the trials because they did not possess the physical stamina needed to be such an elite warrior. It had been big news when Morchanar failed the trials because the Valar did not deem him fit to possess the power that they bestowed on the Tinu Naur.

The elf he had observed for the last month was nothing like that. Though mysterious and about as cuddly as a Balrog, Ciara had shown that she was loyal, humble, and willing to sacrificing everything to keep those she cared for safe. How her people could think she was anything less than noble stunned him. He wondered, idly, if he knew any of the Nenanore that still remained in Arda. Setting the thought aside, he focused back on the tense Tinu Naur.

"Please, do not let me disturb your meal. I had only thought to ask if you would like to go out on patrol with me today, as we could use an extra set of eyes, but I see now that that was a mistake. I will leave and seek you out later," he said. When Lady Ciara said nothing, he sighed in defeat and started to turn, intending to go back and finish his own meal in the kitchens.

"Wait," she said, so quiet that he almost missed it. He turned back around to see her staring at him, indecision in her silver eyes.

"I…" she started, then stopped again. Her gaze narrowed, and the indecision disappeared.

"I would be honored to ride on patrol with you, my lord," she said, her voice strong and sure. Glorfindel smiled, glad that she had not turned him down. While he had mostly invited her out of a desire to give her a feeling of purpose, they really could use an extra person to help patrol. Orcs and goblins had become a common sighting along their borders since the arrival of the Gondorian heir, and the normal guard was stretched thin.

"Meet me at the entrance to Imladris in two hours, and we can ride out together," he said.

* * *

"I should not have said that I will go," Ciara said an hour and a half later, plucking at her frayed black shirt as she stood in her room with Gilraen. Lord Elrond had graciously provided her with several new tunics and trousers, but they were of such fine quality that she hated to wear them for everyday use, where the wear and tear of her activities would surely ruin them.

"Why not? Who knows, you might even have fun!" Gilraen said, determined to make sure that Ciara did not run away from her first planned social interaction.

"I had told you that I would sit with you and help with Aragorn this afternoon. Are you sure you will be ok without me?" She said. Gilraen smirked. Initially, she had asked Ciara to "help" her watch Aragorn this afternoon, conveniently forgetting to mention that she would be joined by some of the elven ladies and working on some sowing projects. She had been hoping to use the opportunity to get Ciara around other elves, but knew that she would enjoy Glorfindel's invitation much more.

"You are welcome to stay with Aragorn and I, we always appreciate your company. But are you sure you would rather sit and work on embroidery with me and some of the other elven ladies than romp around in the woods with Glorfindel and Imladris guards?" she asked. The look of utter terror on Ciara's face made Gilraen laugh so hard she almost cried.

"Y-you should see your f-face right now," she wheezed, "I am kidding Ciara. I think this is a wonderful opportunity for you, and you should absolutely go with Glorfindel. Aragorn and I will do fine on our own."

* * *

**And there you have it. Hopefully you liked this chapter, thanks for sticking with it! Let me know what you think.**


	7. Patrolling with Glorfindel

**I know this one took a while to get out. I have been crazy busy with work and this chapter ended up being a lot harder to write than I had initially thought it would be as I didn't really have a super clear vision of where I wanted it to go. Hopefully you enjoy it! My schedule is about to get a lot lighter so hopefully I will have more time and energy to work on this in the future!**

* * *

**Chapter 6**

Ciara breathed in the sweet smell of hay and horses as she triple checked that Astoldoer's tack was correctly in place and that her bow and full quiver of arrows were firmly attached to the saddle. Noticing a scuff in the leather, she used the end of her sleeve to rub at it. Astoldoer stamped his foot in irritation and turned his large head to look at her. _You are stalling, elf_, she could practically hear him say to her. She sighed and rested her forehead against the soft, well-worn leather of the saddle.

"Arathorn would roll his eyes at me if he could see me right now," she groaned, fondness and grief mixing briefly as she thought of the very human gesture that her friend had made a habit of using around her after discovering that it drove her crazy.

"He would tell me to stop being so stubborn and get on with it already," she thought a loud. Astoldoer snorted, as if in agreement. Knowing that there was nothing more she needed to do to prepare, and that stalling would not get her out of the inevitable, she slowly led Astoldoer out of the stables and towards the main entrance into Imladris.

As she approached the main gates, she saw that Glorfindel stood beside a magnificent white stallion waiting for her, along with two other elves. She slowed, touching her hand to her hood in reassurance, and looked between Glorfindel and the elves that kept him company. Glorfindel noticed her approach and smiled angelically.

"Ciara, you made it, we will be glad for your company!" he said warmly, and gestured to his two companions, "Elladan and Elrohir were leaving for patrol at the same time, though they will be patrolling a different part of the border. We will ride out together until we are past the cliffs, and then go our separate ways. You and I shall be patrolling the Southern edge of the Trollshaws, the woods West of Imladris, as it is a short ride from here and we will be back by this evening. If you like, you would be welcome to join in regular patrols, which last about 4-5 days, depending on how thinly we are spread," Glorfindel explained. The twins each gave her polite nods in greeting and she returned the gesture.

* * *

Elrohir glanced surreptitiously at the hooded woman beside him as they rode away from Imladris. They had split into two groups of two in order to fit on the narrow path that lead out of the well protected valley. Glorfindel and Elladan had been deep in discussion about the condition of the roads between Imladris and the Greenwood, leaving Elrohir to ride beside Lady Ciara. He cleared his throat and saw her hood turn slightly towards him.

"I wanted to apologize, my lady, for my behavior on our last journey together. I never should have doubted your loyalty to Gilraen and Aragorn, and we might not have made it if it were not for your courage and skills as a warrior. I owe you a life debt," he said, hoping that she could hear his sincerity in his voice. The only sounds to be heard was the gentle clop of the horses on the hard dirt path and the distant roaring of the river far below them.

"There is no apology needed, my lord. You were merely doing your duty. I appreciated the concern and protectiveness you felt for my friends, you had no way of knowing that I was not a traitor," she said finally. The comment was slow and halting, as if she felt unsure of herself and her response, and her voice was low and gravelly, lacking the usual musical ring of an elvish voice.

"I appreciate your understanding," he said, careful to keep his gaze straight ahead in an effort to make her feel more comfortable. Like Glorfindel, he had also observed the Tinu Naur over the past month, albeit from a distance. He had heard the disparaging remarks that some of the other elves had made when she was not in the room and had seen the overly curious and slightly terrified stares of those who wanted to see what the Nenanore looked like under her ever-present hood. Their reactions to her disturbed him.

While he himself had been wary of her, it was born of a fear for the safety of his charges and the worry that she was the one who had led to her people's ruin. Once he realized that she was not only a member of the royal family, but also a Tinu Naur, blessed by the Valar, he had known that she posed no threat. Rumors abounded throughout Imladris, however, of the savagery and danger of the mysterious Nenanore warrior.

The experience had made him realize just how different he and his brother really were from the majority of the elves in his father's realm. While they had spent many years roaming at least this part of Arda and had spent much time in the company of the strange and mysterious northern rangers, most of the elves of Imladris had never gone outside its borders. While he and his brother had been exposed to all sorts of new and different peoples, the majority of his kin had not seen an outsider in hundreds, if not thousands, of years.

* * *

They continued on in a comfortable silence, steadily making their way towards the border. Ciara appreciated the fact that Elrohir was not trying to fill the silence with pointless conversation. She also appreciated his sincere apology, and the anger and wariness that she had felt around him dissipated. In truth, she may have reacted the same had their roles been reversed, and she supposed it probably would have made her life easier had she told them that she was a Tinu Naur from the beginning.

They made good time as they rode out of the peaceful valley that housed Imladris and into the surrounding woods. The path widened, the steep cliff sides disappearing into rolling countryside. Tall pines filled the land around them, while leafy deciduous trees were dotted here and there, the last of their fall leaves adding splashes of fading color among the dark green needles. The rest of their leaves had fallen to the ground, crunching quietly beneath the horses' hooves. Few birds were heard throughout the trees, as many of them had already flown to warmer regions. They came to a fork in the path and Elladan and Glorfindel halted, allowing Elrohir and Ciara to pull their horses up next to them.

"We will part ways here. Elladan and Elrohir are heading North, while we will take the Southern path," Glorfindel said. Ciara nodded to the twins as they turned onto the Northern path and said farewell to Glorfindel, then waited for Glorfindel to lead the way.

They set off at a steady pace, neither rushed nor leisurely. At this pace, they could cover a good amount of distance without tiring the horses- not that elven horses were easily tired. Like Elrohir, Glorfindel made no attempt to fill their companionable silence with endless chatter, for which Ciara was supremely grateful. Idle small talk made her want to pull out her hair in frustration and made her feel anxious and stressed. She never knew the right words to say, or how to carry a conversation that she had no vested interest in.

A few hours into their ride, Ciara began to feel a strange tingling sensation dance upon her skin. She breathed in deep and smelled the unmistakable tinge of powerful magic in the air. She slowed to a stop and looked around, trying to determine the source. Rarely had she ever felt such strong magic before, and as a Tinu Naur, she had been exposed to a lot of magic in the past.

If she were to gauge the feel of the magic, she would say it was some sort of protection spell, but she had never experienced a protection spell as strong as this one. Frowning, she turned towards her guide.

"There is powerful magic here," she said cautiously. Glorfindel simply nodded, looking unconcerned.

"Lord Elrond's magic is powerful indeed and protects us from the evil of the outside world. Tis part of the reason why Aragorn wanted to bring his family here for safe keeping," he responded. Ciara felt a pang in her heart at the mention of her friend but pushed it away.

"How does Lord Elrond possess such power as this? Not even the most powerful Tinu Naur could ever hope to cast such a strong protection spell, let alone over such a wide area. Does the spell encase the whole of the border?" She asked, awe in her voice.

"I am not sure how the magic exists; I know only that it has kept Imladris safe for thousands of years and is tied closely to Lord Elrond. You can always tell when you are getting close to the border of Imladris, as the magic can be felt along its entirety," he explained. Ciara studied the land around them carefully and resolved to try and determine what exactly Lord Elrond possessed to give such strength to the spell. She decided that it must be some sort of magical artifact, as she did not believe that any one elf, no matter how old or powerful, could harness such magic on their own.

"Come, we will patrol just past the border. Keep your eyes and ears open, orcs and goblins a plenty infest this area," Glorfindel said. Setting aside her curiosity for the moment, she followed Glorfindel past the magical barrier, shivering slightly as she felt the magic wash over her. A few steps more and they were on the other side. Now that she was out from under the barrier, she felt an absence where the magic had previously brushed her mind.

She had been completely unaware of it before, but noticed its absence immediately. She supposed that it was probably due to the fact that she had been unconscious the last time she had crossed the border, and so hadn't noticed the change. Now, however, she could swear that the air was a little less sweet, the temperature a little cooler, than it had been before they crossed the border.

Almost immediately, a shriek cut through the quiet, followed by another. Goblins. Ciara lifted her bow from the saddle and easily set an arrow. Then they heard the thundering of hooves, along with a few screams of terror and anger. Glorfindel drew his slightly curved sword and turned his gleaming white horse towards the sound.

Ciara took a moment to examine his blade. Her father had been one of the most celebrated weapons smiths in Arda before his death, revered and admired for his skill at crafting perfectly balanced weapons so beautiful that many considered them to be great works of art. Even the dwarves were unable to match the skill with which he made his blades. People came from far and wide to commission his work. Ciara's own blades, one short and one long, were created by him. They had been his gift to her when she had first been accepted into the ranks of the Tinu Naur, and they were her most treasured belongings.

She had spent many years sitting in his smithy, watching while he twisted lumps of metal into incredible weapons. Her practiced eye now took in the details of Glorfindel's sword. It glimmered in the sun, an elegant and graceful weapon that was no less deadly for its beauty. Its single edge was sharpened into a deadly blade while beautifully detailed carvings trailed down the spine of the unsharpened side. The cross guard was small and oddly uneven, with the piece on the sharp edge sitting nearly a hand's length above the smooth wooden hilt, while the piece on the unsharpened side sat just above the wood of the handle. The hilt itself was made of a beautiful, dark wood and engraved with gold detailing. It was smooth from use, and she could tell that the weapon was quite old.

Another shriek sounded, this time much closer, pulling her attention away from the beautiful weapon and towards the trees in front of them. She pulled her bowstring and its notched arrow back towards her cheek. A horn sounded, its notes silvery and otherworldly. She glanced at Glorfindel, one eyebrow raised in question, though he could not see it. He grinned at her, though his sword did not lower.

"That is an elven horn. Were I to guess, I would say that that is Lord Elrond's hunting party. He does like to get out now and then when the enemy grows too bold," he said, a gleam in his sapphire eyes. Ciara did not comment, but turned back towards the direction of the sound. It would be interesting to see the stately elven lord engaged in battle.

She did not have to wait long before the first goblin emerged from the trees before them. It was an ugly little creature with yellowish-green skin that hung from its bones, large, flappy ears studded with metal rings, a scrunched-up face, flattened nose, large round eyes and pointed teeth. Scraps of cloth fluttered about it, revealing dirty chain mail beneath. It screamed in its strange language when it finally noticed the two mounted elves standing in its way.

Annoyed, Ciara let her arrow fly, cutting off its terrible sounds instantly as its sharp point found purchase in the creature's throat. It fell face first, revealing several more goblins running in fear behind it. They had not yet noticed the two warriors, as their focus was on something, or someone, behind them. Ciara fired rapidly, her deadly black arrows finding their mark with perfect accuracy.

Three goblins feel in quick succession. Ciara prepared to fire another shot but halted as elves appeared behind the goblins, riding gorgeous elven stallions and killing their foes in a graceful dance of death. Polished armor flashed in the sunlight and the sound of hooves became almost deafening as the new arrivals bore down on their foes. The sight made Ciara ache for the days when she had fought side by side with her fellow Tinu Naur, brothers and sisters in arms, knowing that they each had each other's back.

The goblins were felled before they could even get close to Ciara and Glorfindel. Once they all lay dead upon the forest floor, the elves galloped towards them, slowing just in time to avoid a collision. Lord Elrond rode at the front of the impressive company on a beautiful black stallion, flanked on either side by two elves mounted on white horses and carrying spears adorned with the standard of Imladris. The other elves sat their horses behind him. A couple were carrying bows, while the rest carried spears, some of which were adorned with the same beautiful standard as the elves flanking Lord Elrond. Their armor was beautifully crafted and well cared for, flowing shapes and designs making an elegant pattern that flowed with their bodies while protecting them at the same time. All told, they were an impressive sight to behold. Glorfindel bowed from his saddle and Ciara followed suit.

"My Lord Elrond, what a pleasure to run into you out here," Glorfindel said, respect and joy in his angelic voice. Lord Elrond nodded in acknowledgement and sheathed his sword.

"Lord Glorfindel, Lady Ciara. How goes your patrol?" he asked, his voice lower than Glorfindel's but still smooth. Power radiated off him, and Ciara had no doubt that the ancient elf was a formidable opponent. She was glad that he had accepted her, she would not wish to find herself on the pointy end of his sword.

"It was nice and quiet until you arrived," Glorfindel said jovially, a hint of teasing in his eyes. Lord Elrond's lips twitched. He looked towards Ciara then, who nervously touched her hand to her hood to make sure it was firmly in place.

"It is good to see you out and about my lady. Hopefully Lord Glorfindel has not given you too hard of a time," he said kindly.

"He has been most kind to invite me to join his patrol. It is a relief to be away from the crowded city. My lord," she replied, barely remembering to add Lord Elrond's proper address. Belatedly, she realized that she had probably just managed insulted the city of Imladris, Lord Elrond's people, and Lord Elrond's offer of hospitality and invitation to stay in his home. The realization made her blush furiously, and she was glad that her darkened cheeks were covered by her hood. She risked a glance at the Lord of Imladris to see if he took offense.

Lord Elrond nodded solemnly, though she was relieved to see an amused twinkle in his serious grey eyes. Then, with no further comment, he dismounted, as did the rest of the elves in his entourage. They all worked together to pile the disgusting bodies of the dead goblins and set them alight, making sure to keep the flame far away from any dry grasses or twigs- no need to start a forest fire. Ciara was impressed to see the noble lord working alongside his kinsmen, rather than leaving the dirty work to the other elves.

The smell of the burning bodies was rather revolting, and they made sure to stand upwind of the burning carcasses. Ciara watched in fascination as the foul smoke seemed to hit an invisible barrier at the border line and go up or around, rather than through, the line that marked the edge of Imladris.

Once the job was completed, they all returned to their horses and remounted.

"You are welcome to ride with us, my lord," Glorfindel invited.

"You have my thanks, Glorfindel. While I have no doubt that it would be an enjoyable ride, I have duties to attend to at home and must return," he responded. Glorfindel nodded and Lord Elrond turned his horse towards the border. The rest of his company followed suit with the pounding of hooves, leaving dust in their wake.

"Lord Elrond and his guard are certainly an impressive sight," she said once they had disappeared into the trees once more. Glorfindel grinned.

"He does like to show off now and then. I think he gets bored, cooped up in the city as he is, the Valar know I would. He may be a healer and scholar at heart, but he does love a good fight now and then," Glorfindel explained.

* * *

The rest of the day passed relatively uneventfully. Glorfindel seemed to be happy to spend his day showing her around. As they rode, he was careful to point out places and things that would be useful to an elf on patrol- nooks and crannies where enemies may hide, secret supply stashes for the elves to use if they needed to restock, and even a well-hidden back entrance to Imladris, which he called the Hidden Pass. If he had not pointed out the entrance to her, she would never have known it was there. She had a sneaking suspicion that it was also guarded by magic.

Eventually they were forced to turn back to Imladris, neither of them wanting to traverse the cliff-side trail in the dark. Ciara was surprised to find that she had actually enjoyed her day with Glorfindel. She had been nervous at first, but eventually she had grown comfortable with Glorfindel's presence. He was energetic and upbeat, making it hard not to like him. He had regaled her with stories about Lord Elrond and other Imladris elves throughout the afternoon, and had even managed to make her laugh once or twice.

When he asked if she would be interested in joining a regular patrol, she decided that it was a chance for her to start becoming the stronger woman she had wished she was earlier in the day. The wide grin she received from Glorfindel after she agreed made her feel as if she was basking in sunlight. For the first time in almost a thousand years, she had made friends with an elf.

* * *

**I am still working on the next chapter, but I decided to try my hand at drawing what I pictured Ciara to look like. It is far from perfect, and not wuite what I was imagining, but it is close-ish, and the best I could do (I did intend for her skin to be darker, but it didn't quite turn out that way). Hope you like it!**

**On the bright side, with this whole COVID 19 thing, I am about to have a lot more time to work on this, as all my fundraising meetings have been cancelled!**


	8. Wizards and Other Important People

**Hello friends! I know its been a while- despite having more free time lately, I have been having some serious writing block. I have gotten to the point where I have written most of the first part of the story that I had already thought out, and I know where I want the story to go and (mostly) how the next part of the story will go, but connecting the two has been difficult. I had initially planned for this chapter to be more about Ciara joining the guard and slowly becoming comfortable in her new life, but couldn't think of how I wanted to write it. Given that most of us are probably dealing with some sort of quarantine and could use something to take our minds off the current COVID-19 situation, ****I have finally given up and decided to go ahead and post this scene, as I already had it written. Perhaps I will come back and add more about Ciara's first months in Imladris, but for now I just want the story to get moving again. I know it is a little abrupt and the transition is not the smoothest between the last chapter and this chapter, but bear with me! I appreciate all the reviews and favorites, they keep me going and motivated to continue working on this when I might have let it go otherwise. **

**On another note, I wanted to just say I love you all, and I am here with you. We are living in some pretty scary times as we are ordered to stay home and away from others and the future looks uncertain. But, we will get through this. We are stronger together, and if anything, this situation has opened my eyes to the fact that one should not take casual social and physical interaction, friends and family, and yes, even toilet paper for granted. I hope you all are safe and well- lets keep an eye out for each other and always lend a helping hand. Okay, inspirational pep talk over ;)**

* * *

**Chapter 7**

Ciara sighed in relief as the gates of Imladris came into view, she was looking forward to a long soak in the hot baths after several long, empty, boring days of patrol. Ignoring Glorfindel's chuckle behind her, she urged Astoldoer into an easy trot. After her first foray out with Glorfindel, she had officially agreed to become part of the Imladris patrol, and she spent more time out on patrol than she did in the city. Taking refuge in the forest had helped to partially ease the anxiety and overstimulation she had experienced during her first month among the other elves.

Glorfindel had managed to thaw out her icy shell, and she found great comfort in his easy friendship. His easy smile and warm presence were a balm to her battered heart and helped to soften the grief she still felt over the loss of Arathorn. Elrohir and Elladan had also managed to get under her protective walls, and often accompanied the patrols that she and Glorfindel were assigned to, much to her surprise.

While most of the Imladris elves were still uneasy around her and she never felt fully welcome within the beautiful walls of the city itself, the elves that patrolled the borders had grown accustomed to her presence and had slowly warmed up to her. She no longer wrapped a scarf around her face, and occasionally, she would push the hood back just a little, though she rarely let it fall all the way back.

Once fall had given way to winter, the orc raids on the border had slowly come to halt, leaving the valley in quiet peace once more. Other than the occasional skirmish with a wandering band of goblins or orcs, life had become uneventful for the residents of the hidden valley. Now that spring was melting away the snow and ice of winter, they had increased their patrols, wary of another surge in raids now that travel would be easier, but so far the border remained untested.

She knew that she should not wish for trouble to come knocking, but she had spent so long wandering through Arda, going wherever her skills as a warrior would be the most useful, that the lack of action made her restless. And despite the relative peace that they were now in, she could not help but feel that their mysterious enemy had not given up but was instead waiting and gathering its strength before striking again. She had mentioned as much to Glorfindel, but he had merely shrugged, saying there was not much they could do from here.

As she passed under the shadow of the main gate, she was surprised to find Lindir waiting for them beside the guards that stood watch over the entrance, a solemn look on his face. She pulled Astoldoer to a stop and dismounted before the steward of Imladris, Glorfindel entering behind her and doing the same.

"Lady Ciara, Lord Elrond has asked me to escort you to his study, he has important matters to discuss with you," he said, bowing slightly. Ciara fought the urge to frown in distaste- the formal elf refused to drop her title, no matter how often she asked him to do so- and shared a concerned look with Glorfindel. What could be so important that Lord Elrond would request her presence immediately upon her arrival back in the city?

"I will take Astoldoer to the stables and see that he is properly cared for," Glorfindel said, moving forward to take the reins from her hands. She nodded her thanks and turned to Lindir, gesturing silently for him to lead on. He turned with a swish of his elegant blue robes, and Ciara took a moment to pull her hood further forward before following, casting her face once more in shadow.

* * *

Elrond looked up as Lindir entered the room and bowed.

"My Lord, the Lady Ciara has returned from her patrol," he said, moving aside to reveal the Nenanore elf behind him. As usual, the upper portion of her face was hidden by the deep hood she was so fond of wearing, concealing her thoughts and emotions from him. Her clothes were stained with sweat and dirt from several days of patrolling through the woods outside Imladris, and her weapons were on full display. She clearly had not yet had a moment to clean up before coming to him, but it could not be helped. Elrond gave a regal nod to the young elf.

"Thank you Lindir, please have refreshments brought to my balcony as soon as possible," he said, dismissing his faithful steward. Once Lindir was gone, the door closing firmly behind him, Elrond turned to Ciara.

"I apologize for bringing you here so soon after your arrival, but we have some grave matters to discuss," he said, gesturing for Ciara to take a seat in the chair across from his desk, as he sat behind it. She did so gracefully, silent except for the light clink of her weapons against the back of the chair.

"Do you know of Mithrandir?" he asked. The slight tilt of her head to the side told him that she found the name unfamiliar.

"He is also known as the Grey Pilgrim, or Gandalf the Grey," he explained.

"I have heard of the Grey Pilgrim, the wizard who wanders throughout Arda, thought I have never met him," she said. Elrond nodded in approval.

"He is here, as is the Lady Galadriel and Saruman the White. They would like to speak with you regarding observations you had while riding to Mordor just before your journey to Imladris," Elrond said, watching her carefully. Mithrandir had wanted her to come and share what she had seen with the White Council, but Elrond had thought it prudent to speak with her on the matter before hand, given her dislike for social interaction outside of a trusted few.

"And how do they know that I recently traveled to Mordor?" she asked, a hint of wariness in her voice.

"Mithrandir sees much in his travels and has been aware of your own adventures, though he did not come across your path. It is he that requested to speak with you," Elrond explained, hoping to soothe some of her worries. There was a long pause, and Elrond felt Ciara's intense gaze on him, though he could not see her eyes.

"It is an honor to be invited by the Grey Pilgrim. I will go to this council, though I am not sure how much I can contribute that the Lady Galadriel, the White Wizard, and the Grey Pilgrim do not already know," she said with a slight bow of her head. Elrond nodded and stood to lead her out onto the balcony where the other members of the council waited, glad that she had agreed to speak with them. Mithrandir had been most insistent that she speak before the council.

* * *

Ciara followed Lord Elrond out onto a large balcony that overlooked the valley and the roaring river below. Several trees grew in large pots around the courtyard, casting a light shade over the table where three ancient, powerful beings sat looking at her. She resisted the urge to check and make sure that her hood was pulled all the way forward and bowed, awed to be in the presence of such renown figures.

The Grey Pilgrim, Mithrandir, was easy to pick out, with his overly large, tattered grey robes, large grey hat, gnarled wooden staff and long grey beard. Faded blue eyes stared out from under bushy eyebrows and were framed by laugh lines and crow's feet. He was easily the least impressive looking of the three, though Ciara could tell that his shaggy, almost haggard appearance hid a keen intelligence and a deep power. There was both ruthlessness and kindness in those blue eyes, and Ciara instinctively knew that to cross this man would be a death sentence.

The radiant creature to his left could be none other than Lady Galadriel. Dressed all in white, she practically hummed with power. Her long blond hair fell freely in waves down to her waste, and her skin was smooth and creamy. Ciara felt small, dirty and unworthy in comparison. Galadriel looked every inch the delicate elf maiden, until one looked into her eyes. Her eyes were the deep blue of the sea, fathomless in their depth and age. Power, strength, and ancient knowledge radiated from her gaze, and Ciara felt as if she could fall into that power, forever lost.

Tearing her eyes away from the daunting lady, she looked to the right of the Grey Pilgrim and realized that the third figure must be Saruman the White. Like Mithrandir, he appeared old in age, though his attire and appearance were far more clean cut. A well maintained, long, white beard covered the lower half of his face, and he wore flowing white robes over his tall frame. His hand clutched a smooth white staff, and his head was bare. Cold dark eyes watched her closely and she shivered at the intense, almost intrusive scrutiny as he looked her over from head to toe. She was not sure why, but something about this wizard left her feeling uneasy.

Elrond moved forward, startling her from her observations, and guided her to the side of the round table.

"My lords, my lady, may I introduce to you the Shadow, who has agreed to share her observations from the time that she has spent traveling through Arda," he said. Ciara bowed low once again. Elrond pulled out a chair for her and she sat cautiously. Elrond then took his own seat next to Lady Galadriel.

"My child, will you not remove the hood that covers your face? I sense that you are not all that you seem," Lady Galadriel said gently. Despite her soft tones, there was no missing the power or the slight ring of command in her voice. Ciara swallowed nervously and glanced at Lord Elrond. She did not want to bare her face to these powerful people, particularly while the White Wizard stared at her with such scrutiny. Lord Elrond nodded slightly, urging her to remove the hood.

_Be at peace, little one, none here shall harm you,_ a powerful, yet kind feminine voice said in her head. Ciara winced and glanced at Lady Galadriel, but the lady made no indication that anything had happened. Swallowing nervously once more, she slowly reached up and pushed back the hood, blinking slightly in the bright afternoon light.

A slight gasp came from the White Wizard and she saw his dark eyes widen in surprise at the sight of a Nenanore elf sitting before him. The Grey Pilgrim made no outer response, but his eyes twinkled merrily. Lady Galadriel smiled softly at her, concealing any surprise that she may have felt.

"Ah, so the infamous Shadow is a Nenanore elf, a Tinu Naur none the less. I had suspected as much," Mithrandir said jovially. Ciara was tempted to ask how the Grey Pilgrim had known what she was but decided against it. It had quickly become apparent that this wizard saw much.

Ciara simply nodded her head, unsure of what to say, and felt her cheeks darken under their scrutiny.

"Lord Elrond informed me that you wished to speak with me regarding some of my travels in recent years," she finally said, breaking the somewhat awkward silence that had descended. The White Wizard frowned but Mithrandir beamed and nodded.

"You have traveled recently to Mordor, that fell kingdom to the south, and I would be interested to hear what observations you made during your travels there, as well as during your wanderings before then," The Grey Pilgrim said.

"What do you wish to know?" she asked, proud that her voice did not shake and betray her anxiety at being surrounded by such powerful people. Her palms itched to grab hold of the handle of one of her blades, and she had to fight the desire to flee.

"Mithrandir believes that some evil is stirring, that something gathers beyond our sight. Have you seen anything that might indicate such foul tidings?" Lady Galadriel asked gently. Ciara frowned, thinking back over her travels to Mordor and Gondor. Taking a moment to gather her thoughts, she carefully thought of what to say.

"I did indeed travel to Mordor not long before coming to Imladris and I can tell you that times are growing darker. I could not get past the mountains that surround Mordor, as there were orcs patrolling, or wandering, at every turn. No matter where I went within those borders, I felt as though my every move was being watched. Something dark stirs in that foul place, I could feel it deep within my bones. The people of Gondor sense this, though they do nothing to prepare. Orcs and goblins have been seen in increasingly greater numbers over the last fifteen years, and news of more and more villages being attacked by these foul creatures has made its way into the cities.

Although there is no evidence that these attacks are related, there is no doubt that such attacks are becoming more frequent throughout Arda. Perhaps worst of all, the line of the kings of Gondor has been exposed. I had hoped that Lord Arathorn, rightful king of Gondor, would be able to return to the throne and lead his people, but somehow, our enemy, whoever they may be, learned of his existence and location, and attacked. He was killed in the attack, though his son, Aragorn, made it safely here, to Imladris," Ciara said.

Mithrandir nodded sagely while Saruman did not react at all to this news. Lord Elrond did not move, but his eyes narrowed slightly, taking in all that she had spoken of. Lady Galadriel, however, looked at her with sadness in her eyes. The elven lady had not missed the way Ciara's fist clenched and her shoulders stiffened as she spoke of the dead Gondorian heir, nor did she miss the grief in the Nenanore's eyes, and her heart ached for the younger elf.

"So you know nothing of import," Saruman said.

"Excuse me?" Ciara said, slightly stunned. Did he hear nothing of what she had just said? Increasing numbers of attacks by orcs and goblins, orcs patrolling the borders of Mordor, the deliberate and direct attack on Arathorn and his rangers- these occurrences were not _nothing._ Not to mention the fact that she had _sensed_ something dark stirring in Mordor.

"Do not get me wrong, Shadow of the West, the tales you tell are unfortunate indeed, but they are no indication of some great evil gathering forces as Gandalf believes," the White Wizard explained. Mithrandir stood, annoyance and concern clear on his wizened face.

"And why do you think that these _occurrences,_ as you call them, are happening? I have observed and heard of similar tales throughout Middle Earth. We have not seen so many orc attacks in nearly an age, not since before the fall of Sauron. The attack on the king of Gondor was an assassination, a deliberate attempt to eradicate the line of kings, made only more true by the fact that Lady Gilraen and the child Aragorn were pursued by both orcs and goblins as they fled to Imladris. These are not individual acts of violence, surely you must see that someone is behind this, pulling the strings?" he argued, his speech passionate as he paced between Lady Galadriel's chair and Saruman's.

Ciara sighed internally, glad that someone else thought these events to be more than accidents and random acts of violence. There was silence for a moment and Ciara watched quietly as Mithrandir locked eyes with Galadriel, his brow twitching. She had the distinct impression that they were having a silent conversation between just the two of them. Lord Elrond sighed, drawing her attention away from the wizard and elven lady.

"I must admit, Mithrandir makes a very solid point. Even if there is no larger power at work here, are we to simply stand by and watch as the people of Arda fall prey to the violence of evil creatures?" the Lord of Imladris asked calmly, his voice thoughtful rather than passionate. The White Wizard shook his head.

"There is nothing for us to do. Even if we were to take up arms, who would we take up arms against? We have no proof of a larger plan at work, let alone who would be responsible for that plan. Human villages have suffered, but it is up to their governments and armies to patrol their lands better. For now, we can do nothing. These dark times will pass of their own accord, and soon we will be back to the peaceful times that we have come to appreciate these long years. Keep your eyes and ears open, if it makes you feel better, Mithrandir, but there is no point in us taking any action at this time," Saruman said evenly. His tone was calm, though there was no missing the command for Mithrandir to stand down. His reasoning made sense, but Ciara could not help but think that he was not revealing the real reason that he wanted the White Council to stand down.

Mithrandir looked around the table and nearly snorted in agitation. He locked onto Ciara and she dipped her head slightly in acknowledgement of his perusal. Determination and a hint of mischief shown in his faded blue eyes, and Ciara would bet both her swords that the Grey Pilgrim had no intention of ignoring the growing darkness or following Saruman's orders to stand down.

The discussion turned to other things after that and Ciara quickly excused herself. She had nothing else to contribute and she was anxious to get out of her travel stained clothes and soak in the hot baths.

* * *

Ciara hummed softly to herself as she wandered through the empty halls of Imladris. She combed her fingers through her wet hair as she walked, having left her hood down for once, and enjoyed the peaceful quiet of the evening. After a _very_ long soak in the hot pools beneath the city, Ciara had returned to her own room and donned a soft white tunic, fitted leather jerkin, fitted green trews, a light weight navy cloak and hood, her swords, and one of the knives she wore at her hip before heading out to wander through Imladris. This time of day, most of the elves were in the great hall or in their own dwellings eating supper, leaving the rest of the city quiet. Because of this, evening had quickly become her favorite time of day to explore Imladris when she wasn't out on patrol.

The baths had been gloriously luxurious, and Ciara thought that they were perhaps her favorite part of living in Imladris. There had been few opportunities for a hot bath when she had wandered the wilds of Arda and floating in the hot water had done much to alleviate the stress of having met some of the most powerful people in Arda.

"There are few who feel the need to go so well armed through the halls of the Last Homely House," came a voice to her right. Startled, Ciara jumped and spun around, her hand drifting to the hilt of her knife at her hip as she faced the potential threat. To her surprise, Mithrandir sat just to her right, sitting on a bench in an alcove and smoking a long pipe. His arm was rested casually on the edge of the open aired cutout in the wall, and smoke curled in a leisurely path out into the night. Ciara stared at him with puzzlement, there were very few who could sneak up on her unnoticed, and it disturbed her that he had caught her off guard so easily. Realizing she was being rude, she bowed slightly to the old man.

"My Lord. Belief in absolute safety is a blanket we use to blind ourselves to potential threats. It is merely a precaution," she said. The Grey Pilgrim nodded sagely.

"A lesson that you have learned well, I do not doubt. Tell me, wanderer, what do you think of Lord Saruman's decision to remain uninvolved with the current conflicts in Middle Earth," He asked. Ciara studied him, working how to phrase her words so as not to offend. She wanted to tell him that Saruman was an idiot for ignoring the clear signs of evil that she had described, and that she didn't trust him as far as she could spit, but decided to try and use a bit more tact.

"My Lord, I would not presume to have the knowledge and wisdom of the Lord Saruman, but to a lowly wanderer such as myself, his decision does not seem entirely… wise," she said carefully.

"Well said, Shadow, and I must say that I find myself agreeing with you," Mithrandir said jovially, his eyes twinkling as if he knew what she had really wanted to say.

"The tidings you gave today were grave indeed, and I worry for the future of Middle Earth," he said gravely, the twinkle in his eyes disappearing, "I appreciate your advice. I think I may take some of this into my own hands for the time being, though it would probably be best if you did not mention that to anyone else."

Ciara nodded her understanding, glad to know that someone wiser than her would be looking deeper into the matter of the safety of Arda. She thought of Saruman's cold, unforgiving stare and the unease she felt in his presence.

"If I may be so bold, I would urge caution in the matter of Saruman, he is not telling you everything," she said, hoping that she did not overstep her bounds. Mithrandir frowned.

"Do you mean to say that Saruman is not worthy of our trust?" he asked, a hint of anger in his voice at her accusation. Ciara shook her head.

"I know only that none are above the temptation of evil and power, not even those who seem to be pure in heart. Those who are closest to us can be the most dangerous, as we are often blind to their intentions until it is too late," she said, urging the grey robed man to see the truth in her words. Pale blue eyes locked with intense silver ones, and neither spoke for several minutes.

"You speak with a wisdom beyond your years, Shadow, and I suppose it is wisdom that was hard earned. I shall take your advice into consideration and offer some in return. Those that are closest to us do have the power to hurt us the most, but we cannot let the fear of what may be keep us from putting our trust in those who deserve it, for they can also bring us the greatest joys in life," he said. In a flurry of grey robes, he stood and strode down the hall, leaving Ciara to ponder his words.

* * *

**Hope you like it! A little short, but I wanted to try and get it to you as soon as possible. Obviously, this particular little scene is completely of my own design, though I imagine it to be the reason that Saruman is so irritated with Gandalf for taking action (he already warned him against doing this) and why Gandalf knew to gather company of dwarves without telling his superior. Again, I might come back to add to this, but here it is for now. **


End file.
